


Amorphous

by Aelfay



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Darcy Lewis, Bucky Barnes Returns, Bucky Barnes is a Science Bro, Bucky Smash Too, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Comics Clint Barton, Confused Steve Rogers, Cuddles, Deaf Clint Barton, Don’t copy to another site, Dum-E - Freeform, Explosions, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Future Clint Barton/Tony Stark - Freeform, Future Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes, Future Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Hulk Smash (Marvel), Jarvis (Iron Man movies) is a Good Bro, Kisses, Koala Steve, M/M, Misuse of snapchat, Multi, Old Peggy Carter, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Hulk (Marvel), Robot Battles, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, The Dodgers Rant, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2020-05-19 03:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 77,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19348165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelfay/pseuds/Aelfay
Summary: After the Triskelion falls the Avengers go about deciding their futures without SHIELD, including how to work with Bucky Barnes. Unfortunately, accepting Bucky means accepting the past and planning for the future, something none of them are good at. If they're going to make through this, they're going to have to do it together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to [Devlandiablo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/devlandiablo/works) for beta'ing this, it's so incredibly appreciated! 
> 
> Rating, ships, and tags will change with added chapters. Please heed the warnings; this fic doesn't shy away from the reality of what the team and Bucky have lived through.

**_Two months and three days after Captain America is found on the edge of the Potomac, unconscious but breathing_ **

The good part about being The Avenger Nobody Cared About was that even after Natasha broadcast every SHIELD dirty secret on every social media outlet in the world, most people didn’t read far enough to get to the bits about Clint Barton.

A few news outlets did “Avengers Specials,” going through all of the Avengers’ records, but even then, Hawkeye was mostly skipped over in favor of going through every email Steve had ever written. Which was quality television, Clint couldn’t even argue about that. He’d downed three beers and spent an entire evening curled up with Lucky on the sofa, laughing so hard he nearly peed as FOX News shit their collective pants over Steve Rogers writing ‘fuck’ in a work email.

He’d called Steve to ask him if he was watching FOX, which had been a stupid idea, but he’d been drunk so of course it was gonna be a night for dumb decisions, and he’d cackled as Steve ruefully detailed all of his regrets in assuming that when SHIELD said ‘secure’ they’d meant ‘deleted after reading’.

“Once upon a time you’d send a letter, and you knew that your pal would burn the thing after he’d read it,” he’d said, and Clint had nearly choked on a Cheeto through sheer hilarity, because Steve sounded so damn _sincere_ about how he’d really not meant to cause all this trouble.

Thankfully, Sam had pulled Steve aside and caught him up on what FOX News was by the next week, bless him, and so Clint didn’t have to be the one to break it to Steve that the studio that had once brought him Shirley Temple had also eventually mutated into this monstrosity. Clint didn’t know how Sam had the patience. Steve didn’t feel at all bad about making FOX upset after that, and Clint didn’t for a moment think it was coincidence that when he was asked for a video interview to comment, he called in on his StarkPhone wearing his _Love is Love_ t-shirt.

Clint loved watching FOX News anchors turn purple. Purple was his favorite color.

He’d thought he’d have an easy time with SHIELD out of commission, but the Tracksuit Bros ended up terrorizing the neighborhood for a bit (again). He and Katie-Kate had found themselves with their hands full for about three weeks, during which he managed a concussion, six broken toes, and testicular bruising. The last one had less to do with the Tracksuits and more to do with an ill-advised flirt with someone who was way too attached to his heterosexuality, in Clint’s opinion. An offer to get coffee together shouldn’t lead to _literal_ blue balls.

Clint had ended up on his sofa again, much less amused, a cast on one foot and two splints on the other, a bag of frozen peas on his groin as he tried to find something worth watching on the hellscape of daytime television. He couldn’t properly relax, because he was still worried about the Tracksuit Mafia. Katie-Kate taking them on all by herself made him nervous. She was good – he’d never argue that – but she was also like, probably twelve.

The loud knock on the door cut through the TV and had him looking up warily, Lucky glancing up with a similar expression. Clint considered movement, but the first attempt to shift his legs made his groin get stabbed with knives. Flaming knives of pain. Lots of them.

“Pizza Dog, go get the door,” he ordered, reaching for his bow and arrows next to him, hoping it was a friendly and he wouldn’t have to bother getting up. Lucky looked at him like he was nuts, and Clint sighed before calling, “Key under the mat, come in, I’ll shoot if you’re wearing a tracksuit!”

A moment later the door opened to Steve’s face peering round the edge of it warily, and Clint relaxed his draw as Steve asked, “What have you got against tracksuits?”

“Nothing,” Clint said, waving him in. “I’ve got something against the people wearing them, though. Close the door and get me coffee.” He flicked off the television with a click of the remote.

“Why can’t you get your own cof—” Steve broke off when he saw Clint’s cast, propped on the arm of the sofa. Clint lounged against the other arm, trying to look less hurt than he was, but that didn’t go as planned when the trying lead to him shifting his hips – which lead to the flaming knives of pain again, and a wince he couldn’t hide in time.

“Hawkeye,” Steve said, putting his hands on his hips, and aw, no, that was the Cap voice. “You’re meant to report your injuries to Headquarters.”

“We don’t have a headquarters anymore,” Clint protested. “And these aren’t Avenger-y injuries anyway, they’re personal injuries.”

“They certainly look personal,” Steve agreed, closing the door as he came forward, eyeing the bag of peas. Clint only barely stopped himself from reaching to adjust it awkwardly. “Avengers Tower counts as headquarters. Or you could have just called me.”

Clint shrugged. “Didn’t seem worth wasting your time. It’s just my toes, and a dude kneed me in the groin.” His concussion was probably at fault for how easily he admitted that.

Actually, probably not. Clint wasn’t good at trusting people, but Nat trusted Steve, so that had given Steve a couple points in his favor. More than that, though, he’d never questioned Clint as part of the team after Nat’s ‘cognitive recalibration’. Steve had a refreshing “Stuff happens, get on with it” attitude, which Clint supposed probably came from living through World War II and then getting shoved into the future. It had helped, after the Battle of New York, to have Steve just treat him like another teammate, not as SHIELD’s internal Judas.

It had also helped to find out that a lot of the agents who had been treating Clint like their personal Benedict Arnold were all Hydra.

Either way, Clint liked Steve enough that he didn’t feel too annoyed about admitting he was hurt. Not that he’d have ever called in and reported his injuries voluntarily.

Steve sighed and turned toward the kitchen. “Where do you keep the coffee grounds?” he asked, and Clint perked up.

“Above the sink, Folgers tub,” he said, raising his voice so Steve could hear. “Put in however much you normally use and then add two scoops, I like my sludge.”

Steve made a disgusted noise, but Clint knew he’d make it as requested. Steve was decent like that. When the coffee maker was making happy burbles of impending joy, Steve came back in to sit across from Clint with a frown, eyes off-focus. It looked a bit like he was staring through Lucky, sprawled on his dog bed next to the sofa.

Cap hadn’t been doing all that well, Clint knew. It wasn’t all that obvious if you weren’t looking for it. Steve had an incredible ability to compartmentalize – another thing Clint thought must come from living through WWII – and could force himself to have a steady sort of focus and responsibility that Clint hadn’t ever managed, ever, unless he was actively shooting arrows into things that deserved skewering. It was easy to tell if Clint was struggling: you walked into his home and found him on the sofa in a cast with peas on his dick.

Clint was an open book.

Cap, on the other hand, seemed perfectly normal until he’d do this. Nat had been trying to get him to talk for weeks, knowing something had gone down on that helicarrier with the Winter Soldier – Bucky Barnes, goddamn, Clint’s childhood sniper hero. If Nat couldn’t get Steve to talk, Clint didn’t have a chance. So, he didn’t bother trying. Instead he stuck to giving Steve his openings, and otherwise letting him direct iffy conversations. Unless Clint had a joke to make in poor taste, in which case he had no control and couldn’t be blamed for anything that slipped out of his mouth.

“Lucky’s a dog,” he blurted, and Cap glanced up, poster-boy brow creasing in confusion as Lucky thumped his tail at his name. Clint grinned and clarified. “He’s great with a lot of things, but the answers to life, the universe, and everything are not in his doggie brain. At least, I don’t think so, and I’ve asked. Often.”

Steve huffed a laugh, getting up as the coffee maker slowed its gurgling. “You sure? I bet he’s a clever boy.”

“He’s not,” Clint protested, “He’s a dumb dog, aren’t you, Lucky? Or you’d never have bothered with my stupid ass.” Lucky just huffed and put his nose back on his paws.

“By that logic Natasha’s an idiot, so you may want to reconsider the argument,” Steve said, handing him a mug, and Clint pointed at him.

“If you tell her any of this, I will leave _you_ clutching iced peas to your star and spangles.”

Steve’s face did a mix of expressions at once: horror at the thought of being kicked in the balls, affront at what Clint had named his bits, and amusement. Amusement won out in a sort of strangled laugh. “Don’t let FOX News hear you.”

 “They’ve heard worse. Did you know Captain America said _fuck_ once?” Clint said in a mockery of a southern grandma’s shock and bewilderment, and Steve groaned, flopping sideways into the seat so his legs dangled over one armrest.

“Fury _deserved_ it,” he defended himself, and Clint snickered.

“I’m glad you told him. I’ve wanted to plenty of times, but I didn’t have the clout to get away with it. Also, he kinda scares me.”

“Ditto,” Steve admitted, and Clint grinned.

“Nat owes me twenty bucks.”

Steve moaned and tossed an arm over his face. Clint sipped his coffee, sighing happily. Sweet, sweet caffeine-y goodness. After a few minutes his curiosity got the better of him.

“What brought you my way? It wasn’t concern over my bits, since you didn’t know about that when you came in.”

Steve spent a long moment silent, for long enough that Clint reached up to check his aids were on. They were, which meant the pause was because Steve was figuring out what to say. Which was worrisome, because most of the time Steve knew exactly what he wanted to say to everyone. Steve was not a subtle man with his words. Captain America could manage some basic diplomacy, but Steve Rogers – well. Steve wore his _Love is Love_ t-shirts on FOX News and, when asked about his language, responded with “Well, I just can’t be assed to give a fuck.” Steve watching his words was definitely worrisome. Maybe Clint should call for backup.

His hand was inching toward his phone when Steve finally spoke.

“JARVIS found Bucky’s files in the infodump from Shydra.” His voice was quiet, half-muffled under his giant bicep. “Tony’s going through them and won’t let me look. Says whatever made Bucky into _that_ can’t be good and I don’t need it in my head.”

Clint paused and asked slowly, frowning, “Do you think he’s right?”

Steve flopped his other hand in the air in an aimless flail. “Probably? He’s Tony Stark. I know he’s smart I just—I don’t like it. I’m the one who left him behind, the least I could do is know what the hell they did to him when I left him to be—”

“Aw, no, stop that,” Clint said, and threw his bag of peas at Steve’s head. Steve grunted, shifting to glare at him, propped on one elbow, and Clint paused before sighing. “I need that back,” he admitted, and Steve snorted, tossing it into his hand. Clint got it back settled over his throbbing groin before he continued. “Look, I don’t know Bucky. But I do know that if I’d gone through shit, I wouldn’t want Nat watching it. Especially if she was blaming herself for whatever got me captured. If he’s trying to remember you and get his head screwed on straight, he can’t be reassuring you all the time.” Steve scanned Clint’s face, and Clint scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “That’s just me, though.”

“Would you blame Nat, if you’d been left behind?” Steve asked suddenly, and Clint blinked.

“No,” he said instantly. “Absolutely not. I know she always does her best when we work together. If she didn’t get me, it’s because she genuinely thought I was dead, or coming to get me would get us both killed.”

Steve flopped back. “I’d blame me.”

“You already are,” Clint pointed out, and Steve lifted a finger at him. Clint ignored it. “You gotta – I dunno, process that shit, man. You don’t want him coming back trying to put _you_ back together.”

Steve let his hand flop back over his face instead of flipping Clint off with it. “Yeah. I don’t want him being my therapist. You’re good at this, I’ll make you do it.”

Clint gave an indignant squawk. “Hey, no, I’ve got no idea what the hell your head needs. Talk to Sam, he’s trained in that shit.”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah. He’s trying, you know. I think he’s become the Tower’s default confidante. The other day I went looking for him and found him talking DUM-E through a meltdown.”

“What does DUM-E have meltdowns about?” Clint asked, and Steve shrugged.

“I have no idea, but I know Sam’s counselling voice when he uses it.”

Clint grinned. “Aw. Sam head-shrinking Tony’s bots. I wonder if it’ll have a butterfly effect, make Tony more balanced. It’s heart-warming.”

Steve snorted a laugh. “I don’t know if anything can make Tony more balanced. He’s already better than Howard was, so I’m not going to tip those scales.”

“Y ’know, I don’t think I’d have liked Howard,” Clint admitted. “I don’t like the face Tony makes when he mentions him.”

Steve nodded. “Howard was always on the razor-edge. Greed and pride on one side, generosity and kindness on the other. I think the war forced him to balance, and it helped that all the things that were making him money and fame were things that saved our boys more than once. But when the war ended… I think he lost that somewhere. My dive didn’t help. Constant pressure for Tony to live up to whatever twisted legacy Howard thought I meant to leave behind that day.”

Clint grimaced. “Tony came out pretty okay. Don’t tell him I said that.”

Steve gave him a thumbs up. “You good if I just—” he broke off and yawned before finishing, “—nap here for a bit?”

The tower must really have been tense, Clint realized. “Yeah, sure. Though you can use the bed if you want. I’ll take my aids out and watch with subtitles, my ears need the break anyway.”

Steve nodded and stumbled into Clint’s bedroom. Clint had a last-minute futile hope that he didn’t have any Captain America boxers on the floor but dismissed it as a lost cause as he turned off his aids and set them on the side table, hitting the subtitles to _on_ and flipping channels again.

 

**_Potomac + two months and four days_ **

 

Clint woke to Lucky nudging him and his phone flashing red lights in a pattern: -./.-/-, over and over. Stark had programmed the Morse in, and Clint thought it was cool as fuck. He’d told Tony so, and Tony had given him a grin that made him look seventeen years younger and told him to get out of his workshop before he threw something at him.

Thanks to JARVIS being the best voice-to-text tech Clint had _ever had_ (he really needed to write Tony a thank you note someday for all the cool shit he made for the world, because StarkPhones had replaced TTY relays, which had driven him nuts back in the day), Clint could hit the text button and just read Nat’s words.

_I need you and Cap to come back to the Tower, now_

Clint paused, frowning. “Something wrong?” he asked, probably too loud.

_Stark’s not okay. The shit about Barnes was bad, and apparently, they made Barnes kill Howard and Maria. That’s all he’ll say. He keeps saying he needs to talk to you_

“Me? Or Cap?”

_You_

“Fuck. Yeah, okay. I’ll get my ears in and, uh. Use Cap as crutches or something. We’ll get a cab.”

_I have Happy on his way already. Just get dressed and put your ears in,_ Дротик

“Will do. See you soon.” Clint hung up, grunting as he reached for his aids and put them in. “CAP! WE GOTTA HEAD OUT!”

A groan came from the next room, then two thuds and a thump. “Whu?” Steve asked, blinking his way awake in the doorway, looking far too handsome and rumpled. Clint snickered despite his worry at Nat’s summons.

“Nat says whatever Tony’s got has him messed up. We’re needed as support – me, cause Tony’s asking for me, and you, because you’re going to carry me down the stairs and into the car,” Clint said, and looked down at himself with a wince. “Also, can you grab me a new pair of pants? There’s snap-ons in the bottom drawer.”

Steve blinked at him three times and then disappeared into the bedroom, coming out with a new pair of trousers, tracksuit bottoms with snap sides.

“Do you normally keep stripper clothes around?” he asked.

Clint snorted. “I normally keep cast-friendly clothes around,” he corrected. “No super-serum in me, man, I gotta cope the normal way.”

“Sucks to be you,” Steve teased, and then went to the kitchen. Clint frowned in confusion, changing carefully – groin still slightly sore – but brightened up when he heard the coffee machine. God bless America, especially its Captain. He finished the last snap and grinned as Cap came in with a travel cup – Hawkeye merch, because Clint’s merch was the best, it had purple arrows on it.

“Gimme,” he said, making grabby hands after he slipped his phone in his pocket.

“Y’ know, this could be mine,” Steve said, and Clint rolled his eyes.

“You don’t like coffee, you do tea that’s so over-steeped even Brits wouldn’t drink it, now gimme,” Clint said, and Steve laughed, handing it over before hefting Clint up like a bride, making him squawk in protest.

“What, you had a better way to get down the stairs?” Steve raised his eyebrows. Clint just clutched his coffee in both hands and pouted at him. Steve grinned and headed out the door, showing off when he managed to lock the door without even getting close to dropping Clint or the key. A tiny bit of Clint could admit it was impressive. Most of Clint just thought that it was unfair the public didn’t know how much of a shit Steve Rogers was. Also, biceps and pecs, right next to his face, and super-soldier scent everywhere being all masculine and shit, yes, good.

Happy was waiting at the front door, and, to his credit, didn’t say a word about Clint’s current situation, merely opening the door and stepping back to let Steve deposit Clint into the car. Bye-bye, pretty biceps. Clint shifted to try and get comfortable as Steve went around and got in the other side, Happy starting the vehicle with a purr of the engine. Clint wished the divider wasn’t up; the AC in the back wasn’t doing much to combat the July heat.

“So, what exactly is wrong with Tony?” Steve asked, turning to Clint.

Clint shrugged. “Nat says he’s not taking it well. Apparently, the Wi—Bucky killed Howard and Maria.” Steve sucked in a breath as Clint continued. “I thought that was a car crash, so I’m a little fuzzy on that point. And Nat said Tony was asking for _me_ , which is… weird. Joking from last night aside, I’m _really_ not cut out to give anybody therapy, especially not about parents.”

Steve looked out the window for a while, processing so loudly Clint would have sworn he could see gears turning if he’d bothered to look in Steve’s ears. They were nearly to the tower when Steve finally spoke. “I think you’ll be able to help him. You helped me, last night. But more importantly, Tony wouldn’t be asking for you if he didn’t think you were the right person. Tony doesn’t listen to people unless he thinks they’re experts on whatever subject he’s asking about.”

Wincing, Clint said dubiously, “I hope he’s asking about archery, then, because I don’t know anything else I’m an expert in.”

Steve snorted. “You’re an expert in downplaying your own expertise,” he told Clint, who huffed.

Happy stopped the car and got out, coming back with a motorized purple wheelchair. Clint’s eyes lit up. Oh man. After Tony’s thing, he was gonna race DUM-E down the halls, and it was gonna be awesome. It even had a cupholder for his coffee! Tony was the best.

Steve came around the car, but Clint had already maneuvered himself into the chair with a grin of glee and was soon motoring his own way into the tower with a happy whoop, the automatic doors opening before him. He could hear Steve’s patient-tired sigh behind him as he thanked Happy for them both, and probably tipped, because Steve was a good guy.

JARVIS greeted him in the elevator. “Good morning, Mr. Barton. I have been instructed by both Sir and Ms. Romanoff to take you directly to Sir.”

“That’s fine,” Clint agreed amiably, and asked, “JARVIS, what would be the equivalent of getting you flowers?”

JARVIS paused, which was the computer equivalent of being taken aback. “I’m not entirely certain, Mr. Barton. With your permission I shall do some research on the question.”

“Sure, man. I can wait,” Clint said, figuring out how to do spins in his sick new wheelchair, pausing when the elevator stopped. “Wish me luck, J.”

“Good luck, Mr. Barton,” JARVIS replied, and Clint nodded, the doors opening so he could roll into the lab.

He couldn’t see Tony at first, and he was craning his neck to try to see over the crap on the tables when DUM-E trundled up, beep-booping sadly at him. “Yeah, me too, bud,” Clint agreed, “I just need to find your dad.”

DUM-E made an even sadder boop, which Clint hadn’t thought was possible. He turned, shifting back at Clint as if to check he was following. Clint nodded back. “Lead the way,” he said, and DUM-E buzzed slowly between tables and workbenches, picking a path that Clint’s wheelchair could take, until Clint could see a blanket-wrapped bundle on a sofa that was tucked between two workbenches. “Thanks,” he told DUM-E, before heading forward. A scrap bucket was next to the sofa, and from the smell of vomit Tony’d had a drink, or two, or three, and then regretted it. Clint made a face, grabbing a roll of paper towels from one of the workbenches as he passed, and setting it next to the miserable lump of blankets.

“Wipe your face,” he said as quietly as he could, mindful of how hangovers worked, “And scrub your teeth with a bit of this, it does help. I have coffee.”

The Tony-lump made a soft whimpering noise, but Tony’s head peeked out and he took the towels, scrubbing his face down, then ripping off a bit of towel and tucking it around his finger so he could shove it over his teeth as a make-shift toothbrush. He sat up, reached for Clint’s coffee (aw, goodbye coffee, Clint would miss you) and used it as mouthwash, spitting in the bucket, before taking several gulps in a way that spoke more of desperation than enjoyment. The blanket fell to show he was in nothing but a white undershirt and pants, the undershirt sticking to him in ways that emphasized the mechanic’s physique he normally hid under suits.

“That—” Tony started, but his voice was cracked and hoarse like he’d recently gargled glass. He cleared his throat and tried again. “That was the worst night I’ve had in a while.”

Clint nodded. Tony looked terrible and sounded worse, but the fact that he was _admitting_ he wasn’t in top shape was the scariest bit. Tony had laughed off nearly getting stuck in space after the Battle of New York with a shawarma joke. He never admitted he wasn’t okay.

There was a lot Clint wanted to say. _You didn’t have to do this on your own. You could have called me. You didn’t have to go through it at all, nobody would blame you._ But he knew any of those statements would come across as criticism to Tony, so he bit them all back in favor of the obvious. “That bad, huh?”

“The worst,” Tony mumbled, eyes closing slowly, as if he hadn’t given them permission, but they were doing it anyway. “Hydra’s so fucked up, Clint.”

“Yeah,” Clint said quietly, scanning Tony’s face, which was lined with stress and lack of sleep. Sometimes Tony looked his age, and other times he looked lost and young and Clint had the odd urge to kiss him better. Futz, he really didn’t know what he was doing here.

Tony took a few deep breaths, and Clint realized he was trying not to vomit. He nudged the bucket closer just in case, but Tony eventually opened his eyes again, looking a bit more focused. He reached for the coffee again, downing the rest of the cup and getting up with what Clint knew was sheer force of caffeinated will.

“JARVIS, order Clint and I two coffees and ask Pep to send them down with an intern,” Tony said, turning to one of his techy workbenches and swiping through things with a dizzy play of his fingers. “And have whoever it is bring me some Altoids.”

“Yes, Sir,” JARVIS said, and Clint could have sworn he sounded relieved. He wondered how that worked for an AI, then got distracted when Tony pulled up what looked like a schematic for a dentist’s chair with a wave of a well-muscled arm.

“What’s that?” he asked, rolling his wheelchair closer, and Tony took a deep breath, visibly calming himself before answering.

“I like tech,” he said, and Clint nodded, but Tony continued. “I like tech a lot. I’ve made a living off tech. But if I could wipe that thing off the planet, I would.” He jabbed at the schematic with an angry finger, crossing his arms over his chest, the light from the arc reactor hidden behind them.

Clint scanned it, trying to figure out what made it so nasty. He trusted that it was. Tony was right: Stark was crazy about tech, so if he hated this piece, it had to be a whole new kind of fucked up. “Um,” he finally admitted, “I don’t know what it is. Aside from a chair, I got that.”

“You’re mostly right,” Tony agreed, sitting back on the sofa, arms still folded like he could hug himself better. “An electric chair.”

Clint frowned at the schematic. “Like the old-timey execution kind?”

“Yes and no. Those gave you a current throughout your body, killed you by sheer voltage. This _monstrosity,_ ” Tony hissed the word, “is made to just fry your brain.”

“So – it kills you,” Clint said slowly, and Tony shrugged.

“You and me, sure.”

Clint paused. “But not, um. Thor, maybe. Or Steve?”

Tony pointed at him. “Bingo,” he said, and looked up when DUM-E trundled up with a tray. “Oh, thank god, more coffee. And mints.” He grabbed the tin, popping four Altoids into his mouth without blinking, which Clint found freakish and maybe impressive. DUM-E came over so Clint could take his own mug off the tray before he trundled back to hand it off to whatever intern got stuck acting as delivery boy this morning. Clint took a sip. Milky, but at least they hadn’t added sugar. He turned back to the hovering schematic.

“Why would you electrocute someone’s brain?”

“You know how your heart beats?” Tony asked, and Clint frowned, thinking back on what little he knew, and what Tony might be trying to get him at. He knew hearts had to beat in rhythm, and heart attacks happened so you had to do CPR, and AE—oh.

“Electricity?” he ventured. “’s why you shock ‘em when they go wrong, right?”

Tony nodded. “Your brain’s made of nerves. Neurons. And they all run on electricity too. Not that biologists call it that – they talk about neurotransmitters and shit, but neurotransmitters and neurons all work with ions, and ions carry charge. Disrupt the charge, you disrupt the system.”

“Right,” Clint said slowly. “So, you electrocute a brain, you either kill it, or… what?”

“Disrupt everything. Some cells are gonna be too hurt to manage and die, others are just going to end up fucked and having to heal, but that takes time. You end up unable to think.” Tony sounded ill.

“So now you’ve got a braindead person in a chair,” Clint said, looking at the schematic. “Can we take that down? I’m gonna put my chair next to the vomit bucket, just in case.” He wheeled over, feeling his stomach roll.

Tony waved down the schematic, giving him a rueful look that said he understood why Clint was so uncomfortable but wasn’t going to halt the conversation unless Clint insisted. “If you had us, maybe. We’d die or end up electrically lobotomized. But Steve’s got his healing factor, and they put some effort into this thing: the electrical arcs don’t hit the brainstem.”

“Like chickens with their heads cut off?” Clint asked slowly, and his stomach churned again. Tony nodded.

“Electrocution like this on someone like Steve would leave you with an empty shell. Still able to walk and function and maybe talk, even, depending, and honestly, it’s not super stable, this is 1940’s tech here, made by maniacs. It’s not like they were doing this by calculating the results ahead of time, they just—”

“Tested it till it worked,” Clint said, gripping the arms of his chair as the air dropped out of his lungs for a moment.

“Yeah,” Tony said, looking as sick as Clint felt.

“So… what did they get?” Clint asked hoarsely, and Tony swallowed.

“A lot of dead people, at first. And then they tried it on Bucky.”

Clint noticed the use of the nickname: Tony’d been insistent on calling him Barnes, Sergeant, or the Winter Soldier ever since the man had first shown up on the Avenger’s radar. It was easy to figure out why; Tony wore his heart on his sleeve, and his heart clearly had Steve Rogers stamped all over it. For him to suddenly switch to the nickname – something big must have shifted in his head.

“What was different about Bucky?” Clint asked, following Tony’s lead on the name-thing. “I thought he didn’t have the serum.”

“He was captured by Hydra for a bit before he fell from the train,” Tony reminded him. “Experimented on then, too. I think whatever they tried worked.”

“Which is why he survived falling from a train,” Clint surmised, and Tony nodded.

“Exactly. So. Some kinda super-soldier enhancement, plus the chair.”

“He was surviving,” Clint said, horrified.

“Yeah. He was. Their first records—” Tony’s voice went hoarse again, and he cleared it, blinking hard for a moment before continuing. “Their first records show him just basically going comatose—”

“They’re _video_ records?” Clint squeaked, and Tony nodded, looking like he really, really didn’t want Clint to say anything else about that. Clint made a note to order Steve to give Tony a hug later but forced himself to stick to a nod right now, because wheelchairs did not make for good hugs when Clint was in them. Clint tended to bash knees.

 Tony paused, continuing after another Altoid, which Clint guessed was more about grounding himself with a spike of mint than anything else. “He recovered, though. A few days and he was back to normal. So, they started to—to _tinker_ ,” he sneered the word, making it clear that it wasn’t anything a normal human called _tinkering._ “Eventually they managed to focus the flow of electricity through his brain – they were just wiping certain spots. Personal memory and scent, mostly.”

“They deleted his memories,” Clint said flatly.

“Yeah,” Tony said hoarsely, and looked at him, expression bleak. Clint hadn’t realized he was gripping the chair the way he was, but DUM-E rolled up and nudged his hand, making him glance down and let go before he broke the plastic. Tony watched DUM-E beep and nod to Clint before continuing. “They’d wipe him, and then tell him their own version of events. He was sick, which was why he couldn’t remember anything, but he was going to help change the world. Make it a better place so nobody else got sick. He had skills and could use them to shape the century. And because they weren’t wiping his brainstem, his procedural memory was still there.”

“How to fight,” Clint said, and Tony nodded.

“Exactly. A soldier who never questioned, who did what he was told.”

“But it would only work till he healed again,” Clint said, frowning, and Tony nodded.

“They’d freeze him. Between missions.”

“What, like Cap?” Clint said, not serious, but Tony’s nod was totally serious, and he had to pause to blink at that. “How’d they know it would work?”

“They didn’t. They half-froze him several times to test it,” Tony replied, and Clint swore. Tony’s hands shook as he gestured. “They broke his bones to see how fast he could heal them. He was missing an arm after the fall from the train, so they wired a new mechanical one into his nervous system, and they kept him awake for the surgery so he could tell them if he could _feel_ it. They poisoned him to see how much he could take before he’d get sick, they – the chair was a _tiny piece_ of the bigger puzzle, which was _let’s make him suffer ‘cause we think it’s fun._ ” He sounded furious, nauseous, angry and spiteful and shaken all at once.

Clint held up a finger, leaned over the bucket, and emptied his stomach before reaching for the paper towels, wiping his face and scrubbing his teeth. Tony winced sympathetically, shutting up, and Clint reached for the Altoids. “Gimme those,” he said hoarsely, and Tony handed over the tin.

“I, um.” Tony paused, suddenly awkward. “I have a little experience with torture. I can, ah… not understand – I had three days, he had – seventy fucking years, Christ – but I can kind of empathize, you know? But the brainwashing—”

“I have experience with that,” Clint said slowly, horror dawning on him as he realized why Tony had asked him to come over. “I only had three days too, you know that, right? And it wasn’t – fucking electrocution style.”

“I know,” Tony said, voice raw. “But he – they made him kill people he knew, my parents, others, and I – I don’t know if it’s kinder to try to bring him back or to try to lay him to rest. I don’t know if he’s… I don’t know what I know.” He collapsed back into the sofa, looking, if anything, worse than he had when Clint had first found him, miserable and tense and sad.

Clint looked down at his cast, then took a deep breath and let it out. “He’ll be healing. He’ll be remembering, already. I think we can at least give him a safe place to do that, right? And then he can decide.”

“Steve won’t let him.” Tony closed his eyes. “Steve looks at him and sees his best friend. Steve won’t – he won’t give up, not if he thinks Bucky’s in there somewhere, and the pressure—”

“Steve Rogers has all the subtlety of a battering ram,” Clint agreed tiredly, “The moment Bucky ends up anywhere near him, he’s going to be doing that hopeful face.”

Tony tried to snort, but it just came out as a tired puff of air. “Yeah. That.”

Clint bit his lip, picking at a loose thread on his pants. “If he’s remembering,” he said quietly, “he knows he can come here, but he hasn’t. I bet he’s thinking the same thing.”

“Steve will hate hearing that,” Tony said dryly, and Clint shrugged.

“If any of you try to find him, he’s gonna bolt. And he can keep ahead of Steve, Nat, Sam – he’s good at going underground.”

“Years of training his hindbrain for stealth missions, and now he has the brainpower to use it,” Tony agreed. Clint frowned.

“So, what if we don’t try to find him?”

Lifting his head, Tony gave him a long look. “You’re saying give up?” he asked incredulously.

“I’m saying,” Clint said, “Invite him over. Politely. With a promise from Steve – one that we may have to wrangle out of his throat, but we can do that – that Bucky doesn’t have to talk to anyone he doesn’t want to. Just – what I said. A safe space to heal.”

Tony nodded slowly. “You think he’ll take the offer?”

Clint shrugged. “I think that’s up to him. Which is the point, really. Any attempt to make his decisions for him just makes us more like them.” He nodded at the air where the chair schematic had hovered, and Tony looked slightly ill at the thought.

“Okay. Yeah, that’s fair. So, what do you think, a subtle advertisement in the major newspapers? A floor of his own, definitely. And JARVIS can lock down an elevator just for his use, nobody else allowed on his floor without confirmation from Bucky, and I’ll make sure he’s got his own budget to use at his discretion – shit. And we let him choose his name.” Tony nodded firmly. “That’s important to Nat, right? Right. I’ll give him basic clothes and food and shit, just to hold him over till he gets his own stuff, he can choose. Choices.”

Clint blinked, and then smiled a little as he pointed out, “You don’t seem very worried that he’s going to choose to be the Winter Soldier.”

Tony paused, frowning. “I hadn’t thought of it as an option,” he admitted, “Why didn’t I think of it as an option? He just won’t, I know he won’t.” Clint raised an eyebrow, and Tony huffed. “It’s not a hunch,” he defended. “I don’t do hunches, Barton. It’s –” he scrunched his face together, scrubbing at his forehead with one hand before he froze. “They told him that he was gonna make the world better.”

Clint raised both eyebrows as he understood what Tony was getting at, but the billionaire continued anyway.

“Even with his brain fried, they had to convince him that what he was doing was for the greater good. He was still motivated by making the world better, safer, even if he couldn’t remember what the goddamn world _was._ ” Tony nodded decisively. “Yeah. He’s not gonna be the Winter Soldier when he shows up. If he shows up.”

Clint sat back in his wheelchair, meeting Tony’s eyes, then sighed. “I’ll talk to Steve, convince him that promising Bucky space might be what brings him back. Steve would trade almost anything to know his best pal is safe, even if he can’t see him right away.”

Tony nodded, pulling up what looked like a floor plan of the tower in 3-D. “I’ll have a floor ready. Can you move back in? An expert on-site would be handy.”

“I’m not an expert,” Clint protested again. “And I’ve been having my own issues–”

“I bought the rest of the block,” Tony said, eyes determinedly not meeting Clint’s. “Last night, when I asked JARVIS why you hadn’t been round lately, did some digging, figured out your issue with the Russians, bought the rest of the block. They won’t be bothering you; they’ve given up on their car park.”

Clint stared at Tony. “They’re going to use that money to terrorize other neighborhoods,” he pointed out.

“Not after the Black Widow robs the cash off them,” Tony grinned, still not looking at him, and Clint slumped in his wheelchair.

“Aw, sneaky Nat, no.”

“She insisted,” Tony said, looking amused at Clint’s expense, and Clint fought the urge to stick his tongue out at him. Instead he hit the button to whir his chair’s motor on again.

“I’m going to go call Kate,” he announced, “And then I’m going to race DUM-E down your hallways, and I’m going to be loud about it.”

“Have fun,” Tony said, not hearing a word, and Clint grinned as he rolled away, talking to JARVIS.

“Hey, J. Can you play that one song? _They see me rollin’—”_


	2. Chapter 2

Clint missed Thor. Thor had been a boisterous, loud, inviting giant of a man, but he was really good at emotion talks, to everyone’s surprise. You just had to pull him aside, so it was a one-on-one type of talk.

Thor would know how to tell Steve about the not-talking-to-Bucky plan. And he’d be able to sit on Steve until he listened. Clint, on the other hand, didn’t know how to tell Steve anything, much less this, much less in a wheelchair. And Thor was in Asgard, doing Asgardian things.

Dumb sympathy brain, telling Tony he’d do nice things.

Putting it off involved calling Kate, and then racing DUM-E down the halls, and _then_ coming up with a furniture-based obstacle course through the common room. Clint would have been perfectly satisfied putting it off forever, but as luck would have it, he found Steve by accidentally running over his toes when he stepped through a door unexpectedly.

“Shit,” Steve dropped his sketchbook, wincing as he hopped to lean against the wall and hold his toes. “What the hell?”

“Oops.” Clint stopped his wheelchair of awesome and turned to look at Steve. “Um. Sorry, didn’t see you.” DUM-E completed the course while they were talking, and whee-whooped a victory doodle.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked, his glare at Clint softening slightly when he saw DUM-E. Steve had a soft spot for Tony’s bots. Honestly, Steve just had a soft spot for Tony, not that he’d ever admit it.

Clint scratched the back of his head. “Racing DUM-E.” The bot came over, hiding behind Clint to peer at Steve, who sighed and smiled at it, because Steve was a giant marshmallow with pecs.

“I thought you were supposed to be helping Tony,” he said, and DUM-E perked up, whirring his way out of the room toward the lab with a happy _beeeeeeep_. Steve watched him go, a look of amusement playing on his face. “I didn’t mean DUM-E, I meant you.”

Clint shrugged. “Tony and I talked through some stuff. I’m supposed to fill you in.”

Steve raised his eyebrows in a move that was definitely Sam rubbing off on him. “And you came to find me right away, of course.”

“But racing,” Clint complained, and Steve grabbed his sketchbook before flopping on the sofa, amused.

“Sure,” he said, and turned his attention to Clint. “Fill me in now?”

Clint sighed, wheeling next to him as he thought over what he and Tony had gone over. “You won’t like it.”

Steve was watching his face, realizing how unenthusiastic Clint was. “What did he want to ask you about?”

“Brainwashing,” Clint said honestly, meeting Steve’s eyes with reluctance. “It wasn’t fun to hear. I lost my coffee to the vomit bucket.”

“Waste of a good coffee,” Steve said, even as his Irish skin went paler. Clint nodded as he pursed his lips.

“Saying they weren’t good to him is an understatement,” he finally settled on. “And they got into his head – not like me and Loki, but still not – not good. Very bad. Terrible. And apparently, he did kill Howard and Maria, though we didn’t really go into that. Bucky will be putting his brain back together, we think – Tony and I think he’ll be able to do it.”

Scanning his face, Steve said slowly, “That sounds like a _good_ thing. Not the history bit, but if you think he’ll be able to get back to himself—”

“I didn’t say that,” Clint said, holding up a hand. Steve stopped talking, face creasing in confusion. Clint continued, more subdued. “I didn’t say he’d get back to himself. I said he’d be putting his brain back together. Which is the problem, Steve, ‘cause he needs a safe place, but if he’s around you, the pressure’s going to be to _be Bucky Barnes_ instead of just _be human_. And if he can’t handle that pressure, he’s never gonna let you find him.”

Steve sat back, staring through Clint instead of at him for a long minute, making Clint want to fidget. After several minutes, Steve’s chest heaved with a giant breath before he met Clint’s eyes.

“What’s your plan?” he asked, and Clint squared his shoulders.

“Invite him to the tower. Tony says he’ll put together a floor just for Barnes, with the basics and a budget that he can spend however he likes. And then we leave him alone until he initiates contact. Not just the first time, but every time until he’s able to communicate what he needs. Let him make his choices.”

“Space and time,” Steve said slowly, then huffed wryly, shaking his head as he looked down at his hands in his lap, clutching his sketchbook. “I coulda used that; Fury was a little heavy-handed. I can see your point, but you’re right. I don’t like it.”

Clint nodded. “If we start to think he wants us around but doesn’t know how to talk, we’ll see if Sam will help,” he said, and added to lift the mood, “He’s the tower-appointed therapist, after all.”

“Who’s what?” Sam asked, coming in with a towel over his shoulder and stopping to stare at them. “I heard therapist, and I’ll have you know my ass is _not_ up for volunteering.”

“Not according to DUM-E,” Clint grinned, and Sam flipped a finger at him before nudging Steve.

“Wanna do a couple laps? You can do fifty while I do five,” he said, and Steve nodded, setting aside his sketchbook before standing, then stretched his hands above his head with a ripple of abs and pecs and _holy dear god._ Clint and Sam looked at each other and silently agreed never to mention their reactions.

“I’m moving back in,” Clint told them, “I’m gonna need help getting Lucky and I over.”

“Tony’d get you movers,” Sam said, and Clint frowned.

“Yeah, but they’d go through all my stuff.”

Steve chuckled. “We’ll help you tomorrow morning,” he said, and when Captain America said something in that voice, Clint just kinda assumed it was going to work out, so he stopped fussing and went to find himself a sandwich.

 

**_Potomac + two months and five days_ **

 

The moving did work out, but not without Clint getting teased to all fuck when Steve found his stash of Cap boxers.

“I’m serious! I didn’t buy them!”

“Sure, you didn’t,” Sam said, snickering, and Clint jabbed his ribs with a finger, making him jump and hop out of reach.

“Nat bought them,” he told Steve, who was grinning with pink ears as he pointedly said nothing and put the boxers into Clint’s dresser at the Tower. Clint could have told him that was pointless; they’d be all over the floor within a week anyway. “She thought it was funny. And then I ran out of normal boxers without holes, and didn’t have time to go shopping, so I just… used them.”

Steve shut the drawer and looked over at him, his baby blues twinkling in a way that Clint knew was bad news before he even opened his mouth. “I see it as a compliment,” Steve said, and Clint froze in his seat as Steve continued, “I’m flattered you want my face on your—”

“Oh my god, oh my god, stop talking,” Clint said, face bright red as he shoved the wheelchair away and into the hallway. “Stop talking, I can’t hear Captain America say cock, you’re ruining my childhood!”

“I was going to say _dick_!” Steve called after him, because he was a shit, and Clint groaned, burying his head in his hands. It was one thing to have a dumb crush on Captain America – who didn’t? – it was another thing to have Captain America living in the same building, criticizing your boxers, and saying filthy words to your face. Life just wasn’t fair.

Natasha walked past him, a book in her hand as she headed for the common room, not pausing when she patted his head. “Poor thing,” she said, voice drier than the Sahara, and Clint had been to the Sahara, he knew how dry it was.

“Helpful,” he grumbled after her.

At least Tony was in a productive mood instead of an irritating or mopey one. He’d been at work all day, switching seamlessly between getting Barnes’ floor and accounts set up, all the things Pepper wanted him to sign, and his own projects. Every time Clint saw him, he was doing six things at once – directing renovators with one hand while talking to Pepper and signing papers with the other, or talking a mile-a-minute to JARVIS as he scheduled things while soldering some kind of prototype for something Clint didn’t understand. He’d figured out pretty quickly that he felt useless around Tony today, so instead he’d been an awesome teammate and occasionally asked JARVIS to send DUM-E round. Clint would make up a coffee the way Tony liked it, then send it off with the bot. Eventually DUM-E would trundle back up with the empty mug.

The last mug had come up with a smiley face drawn in permanent marker on the side, so Clint assumed the gesture was appreciated. Stark was the only one in the tower who really seemed to understand the value of caffeine; Clint could respect another coffee lover. Plus, Tony’d greeted him this morning with a special bow-rig and quiver for Clint’s wheelchair, so he was officially on the list of people Clint loved today. The fact that he looked really good in a suit when he was being all productive and stuff was just a bonus, honestly. Clint found competency attractive.

And, to top off the day, Kate had been able to take Lucky, and his nuts weren’t sore anymore! So far, it was a good morning. Until the boxer incident.

Screw Steve, Clint wasn’t going to let Captain America being inappropriate ruin his good day. Clint turned the wheelchair round and headed for the kitchen. He bet there was leftover pizza in the fridge.

Clint was eating his second slice of cold pepperoni when Bruce came in with glazed-over eyes. It made Clint grin, remembering the first time he’d seen Bruce like this and been slightly worried that it was some kind of warning phase before the other guy took over. Since then, he’d learned this was the way Bruce was after too many hours of science without food or sleep, so he held out the pizza box. “There’s some left,” he said, then took a large bite of his own with relish.

Bruce stared at the box and took it slowly, then sunk onto a stool and stared at the pizza for a minute longer before picking up one piece and beginning to chew like he wasn’t quite awake enough to taste anything. Clint finished his own slice in the amount of time it took Bruce to eat half of his, then wheeled over to the coffee machine.

“Hey JARVIS, send DUM-E up, would you?” he requested, making the whole pot.

“Of course, Mr. Barton,” JARVIS said approvingly, and Clint grinned. He pulled a normal arrow out of his quiver and began to get mugs down from the upper shelf by slipping the arrow through their handles, then tilting it so they had a controlled slide down the shaft into his hand.

Ha. Sex jokes.

He lined them up on the counter, then grabbed the sugar and milk, making up a cup of the black stuff for Bruce, a ridiculously sweet milky thing for Tony, and then adding two spoonfuls of instant coffee to his own mug.

“Tha’s disgusting,” Bruce muttered, almost quietly enough Clint’s aids didn’t catch it. Clint grinned at him, wheeling over with Bruce’s black mug.

“Don’t insult the drink of the guy making your coffee,” he scolded. “Finish that, it’ll keep you awake long enough to shower and crash.”

Bruce considered the cup, then downed the whole thing in about four gulps before handing it back to Clint, who was very impressed. “Thanks,” he said, heading for his room.

Aw, no. He’d taken the last of the pizza with him. Clint took a sulky sip of his own sludge before handing Tony’s over to DUM-E.

“Where’s mine?” Nat asked, without looking up from the sofa in the common room. Clint liked the open floorplan of the common areas; it meant the sightlines were easy to check. It also meant Nat could have asked earlier, it wasn’t like the kitchen wasn’t visible.

“You didn’t ask for some,” he said, but even as he spoke, he was pulling his arrow out to grab her a mug.

“Doesn’t best friendship count for anything these days?” Her voice was dry, but Clint could hear the smile in it. He stuck his own coffee in his cupholder, carrying Nat’s as he wheeled over to hand it to her. She took it without looking up, finishing her page as Clint scanned out the windows.

Eventually she closed her book and set it on the side table, sipping her coffee before she spoke. “Tony bought ads in all the major newspapers,” she said, and picked up one from the table, handing it to Clint. He hummed and flipped to the classifieds, smiling when he caught the ad in the machinery section, because Tony was nothing if not an engineer and mechanic at heart.

_To WS/JBB: Accom./food/amnesty @ AT, no SR/CA mothering, also robots. Private flr. Back dr by grge, shave & a haircut 2 bits. No hard feelings. TS_

Beneath it ran a second ad:

_Ok maybe sad ones but not hard ones come anyway TS_

Clint read it twice, because it was both the sweetest and funniest thing he’d ever seen, and he kinda wanted to cut it out and put it on the fridge. Scratch that, he was going to cut it out and put it on the fridge. He pulled out an arrow and set the paper on the table so he could use the arrowhead as an X-acto knife. Nat watched him cut it out with something approaching amusement.

“You do realize you’re inviting a man who’s shot me, _twice_ , into the tower?” she asked. Clint hummed without looking up.

“We’ve shot each other loads more times than that,” he said, then paused, finishing the last cut and looking up at her with a frown. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” she said, too fast, and then paused. “Maybe. I don’t know. His eyes bothered me.”

“His eyes?” Clint asked. “What, you think he’s gonna snap on us?”

“No.” She looked out the window for a long time, and Clint scanned her face. It was unusual for Nat to be unsure about how she felt about anything. Nat had found herself with a vengeance once she was free of the Red Room and now had an iron grip on who she was, while still keeping all the skills that made her able to masquerade as anybody else. It was both impressive and scary.

Man, Clint loved her. For someone as constantly unsure of himself as he was, Nat was a lifesaver. Kept him grounded. Which was why this felt so goddamn weird, he wasn’t meant to be the stable one.

Eventually Nat took a long breath, frowning as she glanced over at Clint. “I felt like I knew his eyes,” she said, “But not all… angry, like that.”

“Huh,” Clint said. “I mean, you _could_ have run into him, back in the day.”

“Yeah.” She paused, looking away again, face creased with a frown. “It’s frustrating. I wish I’d been able to get a good look at his face without all of that—”

“Haute couture?” Clint offered, making a gesture over his face, and Nat let out a short huff of a laugh, nodding once.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll get a glimpse if he takes up the offer,” Clint said. “Does he scare you? As, er, Barnes, not the Winter Soldier, the Winter Soldier’s scary as fuck.”

She tilted her head. “No. I don’t know if I’m scared of the Winter Soldier, to be honest. Not after the last fight with him.”

“What the _fuck_ , Nat,” Clint said, and she laughed, glancing over.

“He’d just,” she mimed a gunshot. “He wasn’t cruel.”

Clint considered that and then nodded. “Yeah, you’re _insane._ ” He grinned, though, knowing what she meant. The guys who’d just shoot you weren’t the worst you could come across. He hummed. “You’re okay with this, though, right?” He waved the ad in the air.

“Yes,” she said, and Clint knew that look on her face. _Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer, keep those you’re unsure of closest of all._ “But if he hurts any of you, I’m going to shoot him.”

Clint nodded. “Fair enough,” he agreed, and then reached out and flicked her knee, frowning. “And that’s for going behind my back with Tony.”

Nat’s lips twitched and Clint pouted at her. “Stop laughing at me,” he complained, “Six toes, Nat, six! And then you both have to come in and save the day like –”

“Superheroes?” she grinned, and he jabbed at her with the arrow he’d used to cut the ad out. She grabbed it before it ever touched her, pulling it out of his hand and tucking it back in his quiver. “Comes with the job description, маленький Дротик.”

He huffed. “Maybe let me do my own job next time.”

“Like you let me, when you find out I’m in trouble?” she asked, and Clint’s shoulders slumped.

“Yeah, okay. When I find out you’re in trouble, I interfere too,” he grumbled, and she smiled, tapping the back of his hand. Clint looked up, blushing. “But I had it handled.”

“Of course you did,” she nodded, but her eyes were twinkling, and Clint gave up. Today just wasn’t a day for his ego to get a break. He decided to bury his feelings in a long sip of coffee.

Nat sipped her own for a few minutes before glancing over. “Steve’s not happy about the idea of leaving Barnes on his own.”

Clint sighed. “I know. I’ll see if I can spend a little extra time with him. He’s gonna feel twice as lonely when he knows Barnes is here, but he can’t see him whenever he wants.”

“Like you when you’re stuck on the med floor,” Nat agreed, and Clint made a face at her.

“I don’t get lonely. I just get bored.”

“When you’re lonely, it manifests as bored,” she told him, and he opened his mouth to argue before thinking back on the many times he’d snuck off the med floor and pausing. Huh. Maybe it did.

“Why do you know me better than I know me?”

“You avoid self-reflection.” Nat smirked at him, and Clint huffed.

“Only because it sucks.”

“What sucks?” Steve came in with Sam, who went straight to the fridge, while Steve went to start the kettle.

“Not being able to chat with Barnes,” Clint said, and Steve paused, glancing over at them.

“You’d want to?” he asked, looking surprised and pleased, and Clint gave him his best disappointed expression.

“Cap,” he said, “He’s your friend, not to mention somebody who’s dealt with something like my—” he waved a hand round his head. “Course I’m worried about him, want to check on him. Tony does too, why do you think he’s keeping too busy to think?”

Steve paused and blushed slightly. “I thought he was just trying to get stuff done before having a houseguest,” he said. Clint could tell he was skirting around the whole ‘parents’ issue. At some point he’d have to check on that.

“That too,” Tony said as he came in. “Is that – aw, no. That’s not the coffee pot gurgling. Move aside. How’s it going, Cap, get Purplepants all moved in?”

“His pants aren’t purple if you’re British,” Sam responded, and Tony’s eyes lit up as Clint groaned, slumping back in the chair.

“Oh, man, tell me everything.”

“Clint’s just found an easy way to get into Cap’s boxers,” Sam said, grinning.

“I can absolutely shoot you from here,” Clint threatened, as Tony’s whole face shifted in ecstatic realization.

“Oh my _god_ ,” he breathed, “That’s _amazing_.”

Steve was almost as pink as Clint was. “It’s really not,” he said, as if he was innocent in all this, and just for that, Clint was gonna let him have it.

“Cap said he was flattered that I wanted his face on my dick,” he told Tony, who honestly looked like Clint had just handed him a Christmas present full of robot parts early.

“JARVIS? I need you to order me new underwear,” Tony announced, and Steve turned around to pretend to fiddle with his tea, turning a new color of maroon. “Briefs, please, Captain America branding, see if you can get the shield right over my ass like a target.”

“So, you’re coming out as a bottom?” Nat said absentmindedly, turning a page of her novel as JARVIS announced the underwear ordered.

Cap choked on his drink before announcing, “I’m going to the gym,” and leaving. Sam looked between them all, chuckling as he took a bite of his sandwich.

“You really shouldn’t do that,” he told Nat, who just winked at him before going back to reading. “He’s barely gotten to the point where he’s comfortable in his sexuality. 1940’s weren’t nice to a bi guy.”

“He wore his _Love is Love_ t-shirt on FOX,” Clint pointed out.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, but then he destroyed three punching bags from stress. And besides, it’s not himself he’s concerned about. Apparently, Bucky was a flirt and Steve appointed himself as official watchdog for the cops when they were kids. He’s still in the habit. Steve won’t be worried about himself; he’ll be worried about Tony. He does that enough as it is.”

“Steve worries about me?” Tony asked, face hidden in the corner as he filled the coffee maker.

“Who _doesn’t_ he worry about,” Sam grumbled, “Of course he worries about you, you’re one of the only friends he’s got.”

“Right,” Tony said, shoulders slumping slightly, and Clint reconsidered shooting Sam. Tony and Steve really, really needed to stop pining, it was sad to watch. Also, if they got together, Clint could tell his stupid crushes to fuck off, ‘cause he wasn’t a homewrecker. Especially not to his friends.

“You should go down,” he told Tony, “Chat with him. I think he’s still worried you’re gonna resent Barnes.”

Tony stuck his mug under the coffee machine instead of a pot. “He’s not entirely wrong,” he said, and Sam gave him a sharp look. Tony shrugged. “I’m still mad. Like, really mad. And upset. But it’s not _Barnes_ , it’s just… all of it. Every time I start to get pissed off about my parents, I think about how much of Afghanistan I’d have had to take before they could get me to kill Rhodes, and I just end up sad and upset for him instead.” He scrubbed his face. “I’ll talk to Cap, but I can’t pretend I’m stable right now, I’m just coasting on adrenaline and busywork.”

“And caffeine,” Clint agreed, toasting with his own cup and nodding to where the coffee machine was about to overfill Tony’s. Tony jumped to switch his cup out with the coffeepot before taking a long sip of the dark stuff and making a face. Clint sniggered. Tony liked his coffee sweet and white, but never had the patience to do it himself.

“Telling him would be better than leaving him in the dark,” Sam said, slipping into counsellor mode automatically, if the tone of his voice was any indication.

“Cap doesn’t do well without info,” Clint agreed, and Tony shrugged.

“I’ll ask JARVIS to invite him down to the lab; I have to finish up the prototype by the end of the day. Oh, speaking of, everybody’s writing a letter to Barnes.”

“What?” Nat looked up, frowning.

“He’s gonna be living in the Tower, he’s invited to the common spaces, and I don’t want him shanking anyone cause they’re unexpected. So, letters, one from each of us, introduce yourself, add a photograph. Normally we’d have him come meet us all but that’s not gonna happen so instead—”

“Letters,” Sam nodded. “Yeah, I like it. Plus, Steve and Bucky already used to do letters, so maybe it’ll help.”

Tony snapped him a finger gun. “You got it,” he said, and then noticed what Clint was holding. “Are you starting a scrapbook, Barton? Why are you tearing up my newspapers?”

Clint grinned and held up the ad. “ _No S-R slash C-A mothering_ ,” he read, “ _Also robots?_ ”

Tony shrugged. “Cap said he got tickets to the Stark Expo the night before he shipped out. Guy likes tech.”

“So you try to bribe him with it,” Clint said gleefully. “The last time you tried to impress somebody with your robots, it was Steve.”

“Well? It worked,” Tony said, and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, it wasn’t SHIELD’s shitty dorms and the Triskelion blowing up at all, or the seventeen lawyers you offered to keep our asses out of prison.”

“Let me fantasize in peace, Wilson,” Tony grumbled. “Besides, he likes DUM-E. He said so.”

“Yeah, because you built him,” Clint pointed out, but Tony didn’t believe him if the upward finger was any indication. Sam just shook his head as Tony finished his coffee, setting the mug in the sink.

“Well, I’m back to work,” he said, “Write your letters and give ‘em to the bots.”

“Will do,” Clint agreed, as Natasha let her head fall against the sofa cushion, the elevator doors closing behind Tony. “What?” he asked Nat.

“I hate writing about myself,” she said, “It goes against every instinct I have.”

“Easy. I’ll write about you, you write about me,” Clint bargained, and then added, “I’ll even let you off the twenty bucks you owe me.”

“When did I owe you twenty?” she asked, eyes narrowing, and Clint grinned.

“Steve admitted he’s scared of Fury.”

Nat rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “Fine. I’ll write about you; you write about me. I get to proofread.”

“Sure,” Clint said, heading for the desk in the corner that had a wi-fi printer for them all to use. He stole several sheets of paper and began to look for pens in the desk drawers.

“Don’t lie about each other,” Sam warned, “I get that it’d be funny and all, but this is the guy’s only chance to get to know you. Don’t start off with that.”

“I won’t lie. I’ll probably be more honest than Clint would ever be about himself,” Nat said, and Clint found himself reconsidering his offer.

“Just don’t tell him about the thing in Venezuela,” he said, wheeling back and handing her supplies over. An eyebrow twitch betrayed Nat’s amusement.

“Well, now I have to.” She used her novel as a backboard to write against, putting the paper on top. Clint groaned, inwardly cheering. If she was too busy detailing Venezuela, she’d forget to mention the Tokyo incident.

He still blamed Fury for that.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony asked JARVIS to invite Steve to the workshop while he was still in the elevator, but he was already questioning that life decision by the time he’d stepped out of it. Inviting Steve into the tower had been questionable enough, an impulse decision after finding out how much Fury had kept him in the dark, made from anger at SHIELD and his dad. Not to mention instinct: he’d spent a good portion of his childhood having “Captain America’s needs and wishes come first at all times” drilled into his head. Of course that manifested as the urge to provide lawyers and housing and shit when Cap’s life exploded on a helicarrier.

But it was one thing to have Steve in the Tower, and one thing to talk to Clint _about_ Steve – Clint was great, he was chill about everything, Tony admired that about him – and an entirely different thing to talk _to_ Steve, face to face. There was the bit where Tony felt like he was meeting a childhood hero, the bit where Tony resented him for all the shit his dad put him through with the excuse _Captain America would expect better of you_ , the bit where Steve was every bit as upright and upstanding as his dad had said, the bit where he was actually _nice_ but also really, really hot in ways that made Tony stand behind waist-high workbenches fairly often, and, most disconcerting, the bit where every time their eyes met for a tad too long, he ended up thinking that his dad _also_ probably would have wanted to tap that.

That normally killed the vibe and then he could step out from behind the workbench again.

The point was – Tony always had a point, it just sometimes took him a while to get there, even for himself – the point was, Steve was a great guy and Tony was glad to have him around, but heart-to-hearts with Steve were not his thing, really not his thing, right up there with having stuff handed to him.

Which Tony still hated. Clint was one of the only people who remembered that, actually, and if Clint hadn’t been probably-straight (an ex-wife was a point against Tony’s chances), Tony really should have been attempting to climb _that_ shoulder-y hunk of an archer instead of wistfully gazing after a Dorito-shouldered super-soldier.

Damn, Tony really wanted a drink, but he’d been doing really well at cutting back since the Triskelion nonsense. Until the other night, of course. And Cap would give him _that_ look if he turned up to find Tony with whiskey breath. Cap probably wouldn’t kiss somebody with whiskey breath. Not that Cap would ever kiss him anyway.

Feelings were _hard._ Tony didn’t like hard, unless it was in bed with him and happy to be there. And Pep was busy all the time these days, which sucked. It wasn’t that she wasn’t excellent at her job, it was that she was always doing it and Tony was honest enough with himself to admit he was needy, even if he’d never admit it out loud, ever, not even to JARVIS.

God, he missed Pep. She’d video-called him yesterday from her car, asking why the hell he’d asked _her_ for coffee when she wasn’t a PA anymore, and he’d ended up having a minor – _minor!_ – rant about family and Hydra and poor goddamn Bucky Barnes and a lot of unspoken things about Afghanistan in cut-off sentences that, thankfully, Pepper understood because Pepper was awesome and spoke Tony-language like that.

Which meant that she also figured out that he’d asked her for coffee because he needed her. Tony always did, which would be embarrassing if it weren’t for the fact that he knew Pep needed him too. They fit like that, even if the _relationship_ -relationship hadn’t panned out; those were overrated anyway. And Natasha was really good for Pepper, Tony couldn’t even be mad, Pepper had looked so much less stressed than when she and Tony had been trying to make it work. He and Pep adored each other but more than a few days in each other’s company all the time and Tony started to lose his mind. Nat at least had her shit together, and Pep deserved someone who had her shit together.

That was the other thing about Clint, Tony noted to himself. Clint totally got the whole, ‘this is my soulmate, no, we’re not together,’ thing, because Clint and Natasha were like that, too, in different ways, but still. Tony had once gone over to Clint’s to drop off a new and improved set of hearing aids to find Clint sprawled over the sofa with his head in Natasha’s lap as Natasha _pet his hair_ , which still made Tony shudder, not because it looked awkward for them but because he could all too easily imagine what would happen to _him_ if he put his head in Natasha’s lap. They hadn’t even bothered to move, Clint taking the aids and chatting with Tony about the upgrades as if nothing weird was happening and Natasha wouldn’t easily crush the skull of anyone else who tried that. Tony had just followed his lead, and Natasha had seemed to approve.

Later he’d asked Clint about it, casually mentioning that Pep and Natasha were together, because he’d never let anybody cheat on Pepper, not even the Black fucking Widow. Clint had given him a blank look and said, “You’d cuddle Pepper, Tony, it’s fine,” and Tony had abruptly understood and then felt like an idiot for not understanding sooner.

Which brought him back to the frustration of Clint being goddamn straight, because honestly, Tony liked him way too much. Fucking Bobbi Morse. Clint had even sent him coffees all morning, which was _sweet_ of him, Tony couldn’t stand it, the man was supposed to be an assassin and instead he was making Tony coffee.

Tony kicked a stray screw as he headed through his workshop. He’d been working on a prosthetic prototype somewhat based off those goddamn Hydra records. He’d needed something to cope all yesterday and most of this morning’s spare time, and Bucky might need a new arm after being slam-dunked into the Potomac. Even if he didn’t, it was a pretty decent model to work off of and, since Stark Industries wasn’t doing weapons anymore, Tony didn’t see why they couldn’t make some tech for the disabled, which was something he and Pepper had been tossing around ever since Tony made Clint his first custom OTEs in a fit of rage at Clint’s shitty mass-produced ones. Stealing Hydra tech to improve the lives of people without arms sounded like a pretty good method of revenge, right? Living well and all that shit.

Tony had the feeling it was actually more about trying to cope with what he’d seen in those videos. The urge to somehow fix it, reach into the screen and _help_ Bucky – it had taken him off guard. The atrocities they’d put him through…

He swallowed hard, fighting off the nausea again, pressing a hand over his arc reactor. He was fine; he’d be fine. So would Bucky, once he got here.

Not that Tony wasn’t upset about his parents. He was. Very much so, a lot upset, and he had the feeling a lot of misplaced rage was going to end up somewhere stupid soon, which was one of the reasons he needed Pepper to know what was up, because she was good at directing Tony’s rage in less-terrible directions. The thing was, though, Tony felt he could trust himself not to aim the rage at Bucky. SHIELD, Peggy Carter, the Commandos, even Steve had all had their own personal mini-rants-of-rage inside his head, all of which were completely unwarranted, Tony knew that. This was on Hydra alone. But he’d not ranted at Bucky. By the time Bucky’d been sent to kill Tony’s dad – with his mom as collateral damage – there’d been so little of Bucky left, and all of it just wanted to do _good_ , to make the world better.

It reminded Tony a little of a young Tony Stark, designing newer and better missiles because one Obadiah Stane told him it was good. Only Bucky had actually had a moral compass once, and had it burned out of him, which made it so much worse.

Hydra deserved to fuck itself on Loki’s staff with no goddamn lube, in Tony’s opinion.

He gulped down the last of his coffee, hissing when drinking it so quickly burned his tongue slightly, then absently set the cup on a bench and gestured at his workstation.

“Right, JARVIS,” he said, turning the 3-D schematic. “Run those numbers on the materials again. Lightweight, body-safe, recyclable, c’mon, let’s make this happen. Got armless kids out there, can’t leave ‘em that way, they’re all unbalanced with their high-fives, that’s a travesty.”

JARVIS sounded patiently amused when he responded, a spreadsheet of various polymers pulling up on a different screen. “That does seem like quite a pressing matter, sir.”

“Damn right it is.” Tony nodded, eyes flicking over the spreadsheet, gesturing toward different blocks and making them fly onto the worktable projecting the arm. “Right, let’s start with those. 3-D printers 4, 5, and 6 on the mainframe with this guy, and we’ll use 7 and 8 to try out these two, but I’m not getting my hopes up on those.” He gestured at the files for the polymers as he spoke about them.

“Very well, sir. Perhaps you’d like to remove the second wheelchair cupholder from printer 7 before accidentally printing a mechanical ulna on it?” JARVIS asked dryly.

“Humerus, JARVIS,” Tony said, and grinned at his own pun before flicking a hand at DUM-E. “That’s your cue, you ridiculous tragedy, congratulations, you get a cupholder. Maybe Barton will propose to you now.”

DUM-E, bless his stupid mechanical heart, actually beeped an excited twitter as he buzzed off toward printer 7. Tony shook his head but couldn’t help the way his lips twitched as he scanned over the final plan for the printed prototypes.

“Tony?” Steve’s voice cut through Tony’s focus on the blueprint. He glanced up and through the hologram to see Steve staring at it, distracted from whatever he’d originally been about to say. He looked so young, head tilted, blue eyes flicking to read the words around the prototype from under soft lashes.

Sometimes Tony forgot how young Steve was. Discounting the time frozen, Steve was what, twenty-seven? He didn’t look like he’d aged a day since his 1940’s propaganda posters, like the war had left him untouched; an epitome of human perfection, with eyes that had seen too much and yet seemed constantly amazed. Steve had too much expression on his face, invisible lines that should have been etched with experience and instead had been wiped smooth by the serum, leaving behind the ghosts of smiles and frowns and laughter.

Disconcerting. Beautiful. Tony’s arc reactor ached, and he rubbed at it absently.

“That’s Bucky’s arm,” Steve said, glancing up at him. Tony shrugged, trying to play it off as nothing when they both knew it was anything but.

“Thought his might have voided the warranty, what with the water damage,” he said wryly, “Besides, he’s not the only armless person around, if he doesn’t want it, I’ll, ah. Hand it off.” He gestured at nothing while he made the pun and had the satisfaction of watching Steve’s absurd, perfect face shift into a smile.

“You’re making him an arm,” Steve said. Tony hummed.

“Technically JARVIS is. I just handed him the recipe,” he said before letting himself be distracted as DUM-E rolled over, beeping enthusiastically to show him the cupholder the bot had somehow clipped onto one of the plastic pieces that hid his mechanics. “Well, don’t you look fancy.”

Steve stared. “Why is he wearing a cupholder?”

“Had an extra one,” Tony explained, “Had to print a tester before I put one on Barton’s wheelchair. DUM-E got the prototype.”

DUM-E rolled up to Steve, twisting his claw and opening and closing it, then gesturing with it to the cupholder to show it off. Steve, because he was fucking perfect, actually took the bot seriously, nodding with the same gravity he presented when Fury gave them a PowerPoint on an imminent threat. “Yes, I see it. It suits you. Should show it off to Clint, I bet he’d make a game of tossing stuff into it.”

“Don’t encourage the morons,” Tony scolded, as DUM-E made a flurry of noise and headed for the elevator, leaving Tony to call after him, “You’re welcome!” with a roll of his eyes.

Tony turned back to the arm blueprint, waving it aside so he could look at Steve without it in the way. Steve’s eyes flicked back to him, and Tony gripped the workbench’s edge quietly, thumb pressing into the edge. There was a nick there; he’d tossed a hammer onto the bench and missed, probably.

“JARVIS said you’d called me down,” Steve said, raising his eyebrows. He held himself differently when he faced Tony, shoulders back and spine straight. Like a soldier, Tony realized, and abruptly let go of the workbench. Steve didn’t act like a soldier with Clint; Tony had caught him whistling show tunes while cooking with Natasha once. It seemed only Tony couldn’t break past the veneer of the Captain.

“Yeah, Clint said you were worried about me and your best pal,” Tony said brusquely, suddenly wanting nothing more than to get Steve out of his workshop so he could have JARVIS project a photo of Captain America on the wall and Tony could throw bolts at it. “Thought you might want to know what was actually going on down here, don’t want you thinking we’re going to murder each other.” He tugged up the arm blueprint again, wanting something between himself and Steve’s gaze. “Actions speak louder than words and crap, right?”

Steve wasn’t so easily distracted, eyes still fixed on Tony. “Clint said Bucky killed your parents,” he said, bullying his way to the heart of the issue in true Steve Rogers fashion, goddamnit, Steve, and Tony was back to gripping the workbench and grounding himself in the sharp pinch of the edge into his skin.

“Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse. “Sure. Let’s blame the man who was tortured till he was mindless and desperate for a purpose for the direction he was pointed. Cause that’s what I’d do, right? Cause I’m an asshole.”

“I didn’t say that,” Steve said, actually rearing back from his side of the workbench, eyes going wide, shoulders dropping from that perfect soldier poise, and Tony immediately felt like a piece of shit. There was the misplaced anger, yep, right on schedule, and he turned away rather than say another word, because he knew anything that came out of his mouth would just be something he regret later.

“I didn’t say that,” Steve repeated, quieter this time. “That’s not what I thought, Tony.”

“Yeah?” Tony asked, then bit his tongue at the sharpness of his own tone, crossing his arms and trying not to give into the urge to clutch at his own jacket sleeves. They’d wrinkle and Pep would scold him for being unprofessional.

“Yeah,” Steve said, and his voice was something nearly gentle, cutting like a scalpel over Tony’s raw nerves. “I just worried – your ad, in the paper. No hard feelings, you said, but sad ones.” A long pause, and the sound of movement, like Steve was fiddling with a tool he’d picked up from somewhere. Tony fought the urge to turn around to see what it was, make sure Steve wasn’t touching anything he shouldn’t. Instead he took a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting it out. 

The silence stretched out, and finally Steve said carefully, “You know, I thought I knew my own place in history. Fight, lose my best friend, take down Hydra, plane crash, _that’s all folks!_ And then I come back, and it turns out none of that is real except the fight. Bucky’s alive, Hydra’s still around, and the plane may have crashed but I guess I’m still here.” His voice was wry, a soft Brooklyn tilt to his words that Tony hadn’t heard before.

He glanced around, too curious not to look, to find Steve staring down at a socket wrench as he turned it over in his hands. “I’m sayin’ I might understand a little. It’s not like I’ve lost anything; if anything, I’ve gained, but it’s still all wrong in my head. It doesn’t jive with what I thought I knew.”

Tony stared at him, then shook his head to clear it. “I thought my dad was a drunk,” he said, even though he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but now that he’d said it, he might as well keep going. “I mean, I know he was, I saw him wasted often enough, but I thought he’d died because of it, and killed my mom as well for her trouble.” He sucked in a breath as Steve looked up from the fascination of the wrench to meet his eyes. “Instead it turns out he was trying to get Hydra out of SHIELD and got offed on the way to do something good. And I still hate him.” He gripped the workbench again, this time to lean against it as he stared down at the floor, unable to meet Steve’s eyes. “He was brilliant and probably smarter than me and was going to try to save the world, and I get that, I get that he was your friend and helped you out, but all I see is a drunk, and I can’t unsee it just cause he was on his way to be brilliant for somebody else.”

The room was quiet except for the hum of Tony’s equipment on idle, the huff of the air conditioning, and the way Tony’s heart pounded in his ears. This was why he didn’t do heart-to-hearts, especially with Steve! Clint would have cracked a joke here or something, and instead here’s Cap, being all well-meaning and earnest, the fucker—

Movement out of his peripheral made him tense up before a large hand landed on his shoulder, gripping hard and squeezing. “You’re right.”

Tony’s head jolted up to stare at Steve, who’d come around the table near-silently, damn him, and was now _right there_ , eyes fixed on Tony’s and, huh, way more understanding than expected. “I am?” Tony asked reflexively, feeling about six and remembering staring up at the Captain America poster in his room with the same gut-hard anxiety.

“Yes,” Steve said, hand squeezing Tony’s shoulder again and giving it a little shake like Steve thought he wasn’t paying attention. “You’re right. Howard was once my friend, and he helped me out, but he was also the souse you knew. Tony. You’re not wrong. People change, and wars change people more. Just because he was something to me doesn’t mean he wasn’t something different to you, later on.” He met Tony’s eyes firmly, and added very clearly, “and just because he was doing the right thing for the _world_ doesn’t mean he was doing the right thing for _you.”_

Tony wasn’t going to cry in front of Captain America. That was a thing he was not going to do. He gulped hard and looked down at the wrench, which was getting more attention in the past ten minutes than it had gotten in years.

“I should care,” he said. “That he died that way. I just care about Mom, though.”

Steve made a small noise. “You don’t have to care about anyone. It’s not something you owe them, or anybody else, for that matter. The people you care for are yours to choose, Tony. Hell, you could kick us all out of the tower tomorrow and that would be your right.” He paused. “Please don’t, Sam’s mom will kill me.”

Tony snorted a laugh, and shook off Steve’s hand, rolling his eyes. “Shut up, Rogers,” he said, because ‘thank you’ felt like too much to say out loud.

Steve just grinned back at him. “Does that mean I keep my rooms?”

“I could auction ‘em off, _a night in the rooms of Captain America_ ,” Tony said, smirking, and Steve snorted.

“Might want to replace the sheets if you don’t want complaints about the crusty spots,” he said, and then blinked as if he was shocked he’d said that out loud instead of in his head. Tony stared at him, then swore at him, loudly.

“Fuck, Rogers, and people say you’re behind the times,” he said, and an almost-shy, impish smile spread across Steve’s face along with the blush.

“I was in the army.”

Tony found himself starting to snicker and unable to stop, because this side of Cap made _so much sense_. No wonder his dad was such a bitter old bastard; he may have wanted to tap that, but if Steve could make sex jokes that easy, he could have definitely tapped Howard but didn’t, and wow, that was a weird kind of relief.

“Shut your gob,” Steve complained at him, but he was still smiling.

“Language, Captain,” Tony replied automatically, turning back to the visual of the arm, needing to give himself a breather from the sight of Steve Rogers happy. It made his reactor itch.

“Don’t sound like a FOX anchor,” Steve replied, just as absently, and Tony gasped in affront.

“Take that back!”

“Absolutely not,” Steve said, grinning as he headed for the elevator. “I’m starving, I’m gonna make dinner.”

“Don’t you dare, you boil everything, it’s disgusting!” Tony called after him. “Get Sam to make a beyaynetu!”

“I’ll boil your head,” Steve retorted as the elevator doors closed, and Tony was left grinning at nothing. After a momentary pause, JARVIS was what filled the silence.

“Shall I ask Mr. Wilson about supper, sir? And perhaps a ban on head-boiling?”


	4. Chapter 4

_**Potomac + two months and seven days** _

“No, not yellow carnations,” Steve told the man, “red and white.” He was educated enough on flowers; he knew what he wanted. Especially after Bucky had once given a girl a yellow carnation and gotten slapped for his trouble.

The thought brought a spike of loss, and then another spike of something else that made his chest go tight. He focused on fumbling out his wallet to pay for the flowers, trying to breathe past the intense emotion.

 _Bucky had_ , two very simple words that he’d thought far, far too many times, and now – now there was a chance, now he could think to himself something else.

 _Bucky will,_ he thought to himself fiercely, and took his bouquet like he normally took his shield. It was about time he got another friend back, too, instead of tiptoeing round this world and its wild Stark-Expo flashing lights and colors. _Steve will too._

He didn’t take the elevator – hospitals needed their elevators free more than most, he figured, and he didn’t want to get stuck signing autographs all afternoon. Instead he took the back stairs two at a time, getting off on floor seven and heading to a room that wasn’t _familiar_ , but close enough, seeing as the nurse just nodded at him instead of asking for ID.

Steve nodded back with a quiet _Ma’am_ before knocking, nervous, fidgeting with the plastic around the flowers. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten carnations. What the hell, she was going to laugh at him either way.

“Are you going to come in, Steven, or just stand there?” Peggy asked him, a smile in her creaking voice, and Steve cracked open the door.

“How’d you know it was me?” he asked, feeling wide-eyed and as small as when he’d first met her, with the same odd giddy anticipation, but this time he was anticipating something different.

She must have been able to tell – she’d always been able to read him somehow – and she smiled at him from where her head rested on the pillow.

“Your shoulders are so tall I can see the curve in the window,” she said, gesturing to the little square glass in the frame of the door with a flick of her eyes and fingers. Lips that had once always been a perfect red were now cracked and aged as they twitched upward. He should really get her something – he’d ask Nattie, she’d know what Peggy would like, since Peggy would barely know that anymore.

Steve grinned at her, coming to drag a chair next to her bed. “I’m nearly a hundred years old and don’t remember how tall I am,” he teased her, and she scoffed at him.

“I don’t remember my own name if the nurses are right, my dear, now tell me; whose flowers are those?” Her eyes twinkled, alight with something brighter than amusement, as though she knew he had good news, knew that the lightness in his step wasn’t accidental.

“These? Aw, I’m not sure, really,” he said, turning the bouquet around, pretending to inspect it. “Snazzy, ain’t they? Must be for a real dish.”

“Steve,” she scolded him, voice suffused with delighted amusement, and he grinned at her before grabbing the trash can by her bed and beginning to cut the stems off with his pocket-knife.

“Must be for you, then, I’m some dead hoofer next to you,” he told her, glancing up before putting the lot of stems into the glass on her side table. It would do as a vase for now, and Peggy looked so outraged and charmed at the same time that he really couldn’t be bothered to leave her and find somewhere else to put them.

“Steven,” she beamed, and reached for his hand. He met her halfway, her skin feeling paper-thin against his large palm. He closed his fingers around hers gently. She continued, meeting his eyes with happy lines crinkling her own, “What’s happened?”

He took a deep breath, glancing at the flowers before his eyes caught on the pictures next to them, the ones of her and her babies. She’d been married, and loved him, but he knew she’d panic if she kept the photos of him out when she was forgetting. Steve had never asked about him.

It was time.

“Tell me about Gabe?” he asked, flicking his eyes back to meet hers. Her hand spasmed in his as she pulled at it, but he held on, gentle but firm, for a moment. “Peggy. Pegs.” He met her eyes, kissed the back of her hand, a bare brush of his lips, and then he let go. She pulled her hand back against her chest, eyes wide, but never leaving his. “Peggy, I remember him. It’s hard to tell a story, ain’t it? Everyone gets distracted about – I dunno, how stockings worked before elastic. But I _remember_ , Peggy, and we spend so much time talking about the weather – I don’t want to, now, I want to remember with _you_ , because – because –”

Her eyes were filled with tears as she reached her hand back out for his, and he gripped it again, heaving a deep breath. She was smiling again, but this one was so frail, as frail as the bird-fluttering emotion in his chest.

“Who?” she asked softly, still smiling when he made a noise in response, challenging him on it immediately. “You’re not jealous, you’re radiant, Steven. There must be a _who_.”

Steve shrugged, looking down at their hands with a blush. “Who isn’t it?” he asked dryly. “You’ve heard me.”

“Clinton and Anthony,” she said fondly, “I have. But they didn’t do this to you, darling.” She nudged at their joined hands in a way that made Steve look up and meet her eyes again.

Steve felt all the breath leave his lungs when she looked at him. So much love, so much acceptance, and he’d been too focused on her memory and her age to let himself really appreciate how much of Peggy he still had.

“Bucky,” he choked out, and Peggy’s eyes went wider than ever.

“Steve –”

“Hydra got him,” Steve told her, whispering it as he pulled her hand to his lips, whispering it into fragile skin that reminded him of his mother’s more than his dame’s, now, but filled with love just the same. He whispered it like it was a secret, because it was, somehow, still, a secret between the two people who could _remember_. “Hydra got him, froze him up like me, left him cock-eyed. But he’s alive. He’s alive, Peggy.”

Peggy sucked in a breath, and whispered quietly, “My god.” For a moment there was no sound except the hospital machines, and then someone walked down the hall, the tak-tak-tak of footsteps breaking the stillness, and Peggy began to laugh, her eyes filling with tears and happiness at the same time. “My god! Bucky Barnes, that boy. Have you seen him?”

“Tried to dust me off,” Steve admitted with a shrug, unable to stop smiling, feeling his own eyes burn. “But Tony thinks – and Clint, they think. They think he’ll make it back to being human. Maybe not himself, but – who’s themselves these days? They’ve invited him to Star- Avenger’s Tower, to live with us.”

“Steven,” she said, and there were worlds in the word, a literal lifetime of age and wisdom, all of it bundled into Steve’s name. He made a choked sound and scrubbed at his eyes with his free hand, rubbing wet spots into his sleeve.

“Tell me about Gabe,” he said, instead of anything else, and Peggy’s face went warm and soft, her lips curving like she was young again.

“We had to get married in England,” she began, and Steve settled in to listen.

By the time he quietly closed the door of the room, his eyes were red-rimmed and his nose was stuffed up unattractively. Peggy had drifted to sleep halfway through a sentence about how Gabe had seen all the horrors of the War and had still passed out during the birth of their second child. She’d been giggling even as her eyes were closing.

Steve had missed her.

He checked his phone as he went down the stairs. Barton had texted him.

_Hey J says you went to see Carter. Tell her hi for me and also could you do me a favor and buy me some purple flowers thx._

Steve grinned at it fondly and replied, almost walking into a door. He wasn’t good at this whole texting-and-walking thing.

_Sorry, I just got this. I’ll grab you flowers. What did you do?_

Three bubbles bounced for a moment, but not long.

_What makes you assume I did anything? I’m hurt, Cap. Hurt._

Steve got flowers before responding, grabbing one of every purple flower the hospital florist sold, then responded on his bike after he’d figured out a way to put them in the sidebag with crossed fingers they’d survive. He responded before kicking the bike into gear.

_Flowers are traditionally a compliment or a bribe._

His phone didn’t go off on the way back to the tower, but it turned out that was because Clint was waiting for him in the garage. “They’re not a compliment or a bribe,” he said the moment Steve cut the engine. Steve kicked out the stand for the bike before tugging off his helmet to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “They’re a thank-you,” Clint explained, grinning up at him.

Steve nodded in sudden understanding, then rummaged the flowers out of the bag. “And here I thought you’d found a doll.”

“Or a fella,” Clint told him, before shrugging. “Nope, still sad’n’single. But not for long!” He held up the flowers once Steve handed them over with a grin, then led the way back into the tower, knocking his way into the elevator Tony had invited Bucky to use. “Hey, J!” Clint crowed the moment they were inside.

“Yes, Mr. Barton?”

“Got you something! Or Steve did, but I’m payin’ him back. And look! They’re the best color!”

Steve blinked. Flowers for _JARVIS?_

JARVIS seemed just as taken aback as Steve was, because he paused long enough that they were nearly to the common floor before speaking; long enough that Clint was fiddling worriedly in his chair.

“Thank you, Mr. Barton,” JARVIS finally said. “I do not believe I’ve ever been gifted flowers before, it is a generous gesture.”

Clint shrugged. “Hey man, you’re the first guy to let me have a decent phone convo, I figure I should give back, y’know?”

“Voice to print?” Steve guessed, feeling less off-footed, and Clint nodded as the elevator doors opened.

Steve couldn’t help his smile. Clint was absurd, but in ways that felt familiar to Steve, ways that reminded him of Dum Dum and Dernier stealing cigarettes from whichever CO had got under their skin.

And apparently, Clint could like a fella, which was also familiar. Peggy would never let him live this down.

“Oh! J, Steve pointed out I’m single, wanna do a movie date?” Clint asked the air as he buzzed his wheelchair into the common room.

“You’re going to date the AI?” Nattie asked from where she was painting her nails, actually looking up in surprise.

“JARVIS appreciates my puns,” Clint told her, grinning. “And he won’t steal all the popcorn.”

“As much as I’d enjoy a relationship with Mr. Barton, I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline,” JARVIS interjected, almost sounding sad about it. “Sir has very strict anti-romance protocols when it comes to those in the tower.”

“In the tower?” Steve asked, taken off guard. “So you can date somebody outside?”

“If I should be so programmed,” JARVIS said primly, and Nattie’s eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Got any crushes, J?” she asked, and when JARVIS paused, she nodded at the ceiling. “You’re right. Not around the boys. We’ll have a chat later.”

Steve wondered if an AI could feel as apprehensive as he always did when Nattie said things like “we’ll have a chat later.” JARVIS sounded calm enough, replying easily. “Of course, Ms Romanov.”

Nattie nodded firmly, and Steve cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. He wasn’t good with ladies. Never had been. Never would be, probably. He liked ‘em well enough, and respected ‘em, sure. His ma had taught him that. But something about them still left his stomach tied up in knots.

Peggy and Nattie didn’t seem to mind, though. Or Pepper, Nattie’s girl, come to think of it. They seemed to understand it wasn’t because of anything he could explain, it was just _there_ , an awareness of them that didn’t leave. Sam had said that just ‘cause he fancied both guys and dolls didn’t mean it was going to show up the same way; that attraction could differ depending. That had explained a lot.

Still didn’t help him open his mouth around a pretty girl, though, and Nattie was just a friend, not someone he wanted to take dancing. Steve was a terrible dancer.

Bucky was the dancer. Maybe he’d take Nattie dancing someday; Steve bet she was good at it.

“Nat-Natasha,” he said, stumbling because he always called her _Nattie_ in his head, but she’d never asked him to call her that. Rude to give her a nickname she didn’t ask for, but his brain automatically shortened certain names: Natasha to Nattie, Dorothy to Dotty. Habit.

Nattie looked up and raised her eyebrows, and Steve straightened his shoulders, forcing himself not to shove his hands in his pockets. “Hm?”

“I was wondering,” he asked, and blushed, “d’you know where I could get some of that lipstick you wear? The red ones, not the Vaseline stuff.” Clint was staring at him, eyes wide, looking dazed, and Steve felt his face heat up. “It’s for Peggy, her lips are dry, and she always used to wear – I thought maybe I could get her some?”

Nattie smiled, and Steve knew he’d got it right because she smiled just like Peggy when she was proud of him. “Thoughtful of you. There’s a few brands that add a tint with the moisturizer. Won’t be as dark as she used to wear, probably, but less work reapplying for the nurses.”

Steve didn’t know if there was a god anymore; he’d met Thor, after all, and while he’d once been a good Irish Catholic, that God felt very far away, back in the War where He’d abandoned them all. But if He was real, Steve would thank Him for Nattie. She grounded him like Peggy, equally patient with his fumbling and always somehow able to see what he was trying to do underneath.

“That’d do swell,” he said, and relaxed enough to shove his hands in his pockets like he wanted to. “Dunno how shaky her hands are, so the nurses would probably be the ones to do it.”

“You know,” Nattie said, tilting her head, “you could get a bit of polish to go with. I’ll teach you to put it on. It’s the little things.”

Steve had a moment of remembering being stuck in bed for a whole terrible winter when he was thirteen. He’d managed all right, drawing and keeping himself amused, but then Bucky had brought over his _TinTin_ comics, translating the French for Steve, getting it wrong on purpose to snap his cap.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I could do that. Where do I go to buy ‘em?”

“JARVIS?” Nattie asked. “Order me another _Red Dahlia,_ and my usual polish to match?”

“Of course, Ms. Romanov. Express shipping?” JARVIS responded, and Nattie smiled.

“Please,” she agreed, before glancing up at Steve. “There. Now, go wet-wipe your feet off.”

“What?” he asked, startled. She was laughing at him, not aloud, but her lips curved in a way he recognized.

“My nails are already painted, and it’s hard to learn to paint your own,” she explained, but Clint was wheeling over.

“D’you have purple?” he asked, and Nattie’s silent laughter got stronger but she nodded, turning to the little bag next to her and pulling out a deep royal purple. Clint grinned. “Do me up, Cap,” he demanded, sticking out his hands. “I wanna be prettied up, make me look _spectacular._ ”

Steve glanced between them, then chuckled and sat on the sofa. “You’ll have purple hands more than purple nails,” he warned, and Clint scoffed at him.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“You will have no such thing,” Nattie told them both, “I’m an excellent teacher.”

“D’you have glitter?” Clint asked, eyes lighting up, and Steve couldn’t stop his grin.

By the time Steve was up to Nattie’s nail-painting standards, Clint had both hands and feet done in sparkly purple, and Steve’s toenails were a pale blue. Clint had picked it out, “to match your eyes,” he’d said, and then asked JARVIS to send up DUM-E, who got a happy Iron-Man-red streak on the tip of each claw.

“Where’s U?” Steve asked. He got the bots mixed up fairly often; he usually had to count on Tony or Clint being around to tell them apart. He still hadn’t figured out how Clint could tell. Tony had made them, so no surprise there, but Clint just seemed to have a bot-sense. “He’s not been around lately.”

“U’s on the Bucky Floor,” Clint told him, and Steve blinked twice in surprise. “Tony did say robots in his ad, and U’s good for getting him anything he’ll need.”

“Oh,” Steve said, taken off guard by the gesture. Tony really had put effort into helping Bucky. It made Steve’s chest go tight thinking about it. _Because I’m an asshole_ , Tony had spat when Steve spoke to him, like he expected everyone to think the worst of him. What he couldn’t see was that Steve wasn’t expecting the worst of Tony, it was just that Tony kept raising his own damn bar. Every time Steve thought he’d understood Tony’s limits, the man pushed himself harder, further, _kinder_ , and Steve was always left stumbling to catch up. “I should have thought of that.”

Nattie shook her head. “You’ve got other things to worry about. How did Director Carter take it?”

Steve smiled at the memory of Peggy’s laughter. “Swell, actually. She was happy for me.”

Clint grinned at him, waving his hands in the air to dry the holo taco, which was apparently the name of the glittery overcoat Steve had put on him, according to Nattie. Steve didn’t exactly trust her on it. Her eyes had twinkled suspiciously as she’d explained it. “Course she was.”

Feeling his ears turn red, Steve admitted, “Doesn’t feel like I should count on that these days.”

Nattie’s head came up and she looked at him sharply. “You can count on Peggy.” Her voice was firm.

Steve nodded once, feeling like he’d just got berated by a CO. “Yes ma’am.”

Her severe expression lightened as her lips twitched. Laughing at him again. He pushed his luck. “Sorry, ma’am. Won’t do it again.”

“Oh, god. Stop, you’re being Captain-America-chivalrous at Nat, it’s weird,” Clint complained, and Steve grinned cheekily at him.

“I value my – what did you call them – star and spangles.”

That was what made Nattie start laughing for real, eyes dancing as her shoulders shook, and Clint pouted at her. “Nat. Nat, defend me. Natasha, I’m being bullied by Captain America.”


	5. Chapter 5

**_Potomac + two months and eleven days_ **

Sam reached the communal floor in time to hear Steve cooking. That was a very, very bad sign. Steve only cooked when he really wanted to distract himself – stress cooking – and nothing he ever made was edible, but he’d sit down and force himself to finish at least one giant, super-soldier-sized plate, which inevitably left him still grumpy because it was _disgusting_.

Captain America was _weird_ , man, and if you’d told little-Sam, 12-years-old with a Gabe Jones action figure, that Captain America forced himself to eat ramen that was so overcooked it wasn’t even noodle-shaped anymore, well. Okay, 12-year-old Sam would probably have believed you. White people didn’t seem to have taste buds sometimes.

Sure enough, when he came in, it was to see Steve laboring over a pot of something Sam assumed was meant to approximate oatmeal. “You didn’t add enough water,” he told Steve. “That’s going to be glue.” Steve glared at him, making him step back with his hands up. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, man.”

Steve slammed the lid back down on his oatmeal-glue, and Sam took the opportunity to grab his OJ and get himself comfy on the sofa. He didn’t have anything to say that he hadn’t already said, because the issue wasn’t something any of them could fix, it was just good, old-fashioned panicking over a lost friend, and damn. Good, old-fashioned panicking was just a synonym for Steve, honestly.

The first day after the ads had been all right, nobody expecting Barnes to show up immediately. The second day, Steve had disappeared for a bit, but then JARVIS had informed them he’d gone to visit Peggy, which was sweet, really, and when Sam got back from the VA interview (moving to NY from DC was complicated, but at least he had _Rogers, Steven_ to put down as a reference) he’d found them all on the sofas in the main room, painting their goddamn toenails.

Tellin’ you, man, Captain America was _weird_. And Sam had insisted on a metallic, badass bronze, thanks. He glanced down and wiggled his toes, watching the nails shine and swigging his orange juice as Steve cursed in the kitchen.

So yeah, Days 1 and 2 of the Invite Bucky Over plan had gone fine. Day 3 had been a little more tense; Steve had paced for a while before Sam convinced him to run Central Park with him, betting on how long it would take the paparazzi to show up. Sam had won, but Steve had lapped him way too many fucking times, which was expected but still the worst.

Riley would have liked Steve. Riley was a shit too.

Day 4, Stark had cornered Natasha and Clint, and the next morning there were seven different ads, all in different languages. Steve had looked touched at the gesture and was slightly calmer all day.

Day 5, Steve had broken seventeen punching bags.

Day 6, _Tony_ had broken a punching bag, looking as shocked about it as Steve. Sam had taken photographs of the bag for posterity. Clint had threatened to hang it up in the common room as an art piece.

Day 7, and Sam has woken up to Steve making oatmeal glue. Could be worse.

“Do you want to leave?” he asked, even though he really didn’t want to. Dude was _scary_ , man. Sam could sympathize all he wanted with Barnes, that didn’t mean that he was excited about going after a guy who had _ripped the steering wheel out of his car._ “Try to find him?”

“Can’t,” Steve said, “because we promised, didn’t we, thanks to Tony Fuckin’ Stark, _No SR/CA mothering_ my goddamn _ass_.”

Sam snorted, shifting to toss his elbow over the back of the sofa to look at Steve over the top. “Does he read the paper? Maybe we should try Craigslist.”

Steve blinked at him. “Nat- Natasha did that already,” he said, and Sam smiled.

“You do realize he coulda been in Guatemala when he got the message, right? Maybe he’s just on his way, man.”

Steve began to spoon oatmeal glop into a bowl viciously. “Maybe.”

“Probably. What’s the chances he decided to stay in the area? He was probably halfway to Bali, Steve, c’mon.”

Steve slumped over his bowl, giant shoulders curling protectively into themselves like he could shrink himself back into the scrawny kid Sam had seen in his history books. “I know. But I can’t help worrying.”

“Can’t blame you for that,” Sam agreed, getting up to put the OJ back in the fridge. “But you’re pushing yourself too hard. Give yourself some breathing room, y’know?”

Clint rolled in on his scooter. Yesterday they’d switched out the wheelchair for one of those scooter-knee-support things, and Clint had once again turned the living room into a racetrack for himself and DUM-E. Sam found it an unconventional approach to getting used to new equipment, but hey, if it worked.

What didn’t work so well was that Clint was very obviously avoiding Steve. He’d been avoiding him since the nail-painting night, and wasn’t stopping; in fact, he was currently attempting to backtrack out of the kitchen. It didn’t go well; he turned his scooter wrong and ended up on his ass on the floor, the scooter having tilted over and spilled him onto the tile.

“Ow,” he said, and stared up at Steve, who was staring back with a concerned expression.

“You all right?” he asked Clint, and Clint nodded back wordlessly. Sam was officially disconcerted, Clint didn’t do wordless, not ever.

“Hey, Birdbrain, be kinder to your wheels,” Tony said, coming in and stepping over Barton as he made a beeline for the coffee pot. Clint didn’t even look at him, but the sound seemed to snap him out of wherever his head was. He began scrambling to get himself and the scooter up.

“Yeah, sorry, I’ll, um.” He wasn’t meeting Steve’s eyes, and Steve crossed his arms slowly.

Nat and Bruce appeared in the doorway, presumably for breakfast, but both froze when they saw Steve’s expression. Sam grabbed Nat’s arm.

“Aw, hell naw are you leaving me with whatever this is,” he hissed at her, as Steve opened his mouth.

“Clint,” he said, and Clint froze, still awkwardly balanced on one knee as he avoided putting weight on his worse foot. (The doctors had cleared him for a walking cast on the foot that only had one toe broken. Apparently, Clint with a broken pinkie toe for the rest of his life was small potatoes compared to the havoc Clint would have caused if he’d continued to have access to a motorized wheelchair.) “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Clint squeaked, and then, “I mean, I just, clumsy, you know, and you seem grumpy, I’ll get out of your hair—”

“Clint,” Steve said again, and Clint folded like a wet towel.

“Aw, Cap, no,” he whined, “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Nat asked.

“Why are you acting so weird?” Steve demanded to know, and Sam snorted, because Steve had no room to talk, honestly, because for the third time this morning, _Captain America was weird_. He needed to make that a t-shirt; he could sell those.

He was busy looking between Clint’s torn expression and Steve’s _Captain America is disappointed in you_ face, wondering who would break first, and so he jumped and did _not_ squeal, at all, when a voice came from the elevator.

“He’s actin’ weird cause he knows I’m here, Stevie,” it said in a warm, gravelly tone, and Sam swung around to see _Bucky Fuckin’ Barnes_ standing in the elevator, leaning up against the doorway to keep it open, hands shoved in his pocket.

Sam’s first thought, honestly, was _hot damn_ , because Barnes looked a _hell_ of a lot better than any of Sam’s earlier encounters. He’d apparently actually gotten a shower in. His hair was clean, brushed, and in a tiny hipster bun that looked dumb on anyone in modern New York but somehow worked on Barnes. He was in jeans and a light long-sleeved shirt, dark red and clean, and if he’d been on the street Sam honestly wouldn’t have recognized him at all. The only thing that said _maybe dangerous_ were the steel-toed boots on his feet. Like this, all languid lines, a half-smile on his lips, eyes clear, Barnes looked nothing like a world-feared assassin, and everything like a cover model.

Sam’s second thought was _shit,_ and his eyes swung back to Steve just in time to see Captain America start crying, and everything dissolved into chaos.

Sam lost track of things a bit, between Tony yelling at JARVIS about why he hadn’t been alerted Barnes was _there already_ , and Steve sobbing quietly, standing stock-still in the kitchen, and Clint trying to scramble off the floor, and Nat looking shaken as she shifted between Bruce and Bucky. (Sam knew the shaken was more because she hadn’t noticed Barnes than anything else, because anyone who could sneak in around _Natasha_ was a scary motherfucker, no matter how good he looked in a red Henley.)

Barnes ignored them all, coming forward and stepping over Clint with a pat to Clint’s head (honestly, what the fuck, no, really, _what_ ) to pull Steve into his arms, and then Steve just lost it, sobs going from silent to audible as Barnes held him tight. The room went quiet as Steve got loud, even Tony shutting up, except for Barnes.

“I got you,” he said, “I got you, Stevie, ‘s okay. Don’t rag on Clint, I asked, ‘n he was real nice about letting me get used to the place, all right? He got it, how my head’s been, so don’t you skin’m.”

Steve’s response was to raise his arms, finally returning the hug and gripping Barnes so tight that Sam heard a seam rip. Barnes didn’t seem to mind, and as someone who knew Steve’s strength firsthand, Sam was impressed.

The rest of him was just goddamn sad. It was impossible not to be; Steve’s sobs were _heartrending_. When Natasha nodded to the rest of them and began to move to the sitting room section of the space, he followed her, giving them the illusion of privacy while keeping an eye on the ex-assassin and his best friend.

He sat back on the sofa, having a brief moment of internal hysterics when he realized how little time had passed since the orange juice and his toes, and he still didn’t have goddamn shoes on. He met Clint’s eyes and raised his eyebrows as the archer rolled up. Clint hunched his shoulders, looking guilty as fuck, and Sam reached out and patted his arm. He didn’t know if Clint had made the right call, but he knew he was damn glad he hadn’t been the one Barnes had asked to keep a secret from Captain America.

Sam looked around. Nat looked resigned, if he was reading her all right. Bruce just looked bewildered, and Tony was watching Steve and Barnes with a mixture of awe and pity splashed across his face.

They all sat there awkwardly, waiting. Barnes was murmuring quietly enough Sam couldn’t understand him as Steve cried himself out, eventually shifting to sniffles and heaving breaths. A glance over Sam’s shoulder at the kitchen showed that Steve was still gripping Barnes like a lifeline, though.

Barnes didn’t try to stop him. Instead, to Sam’s surprise, he just gripped Steve round the waist a little tighter and lifted him off the ground a few inches, then began to walk toward the sitting room. Sam got up immediately, gesturing to the sofa. Barnes nodded at him (so weird, Sam still associated his face with a mask and murder, and he was so different now) before dumping himself and Steve onto the sofa.

Steve’s response was to tuck himself as close as a ginormous, two-hundred-something pound super-soldier could possibly manage. Barnes just hummed and lifted his arms a little so Steve could arrange himself, then snugged them back around him tight, if Steve’s sigh of relief said anything about it. Once the two were situated he looked up at Sam, of all people, who was still standing by the sofa like a moron.

“Sorry about your car,” he said, “and your wing.”

Sam blinked at him, twice, then folded his arms and poked a finger at him. “That’s it,” he said, “you and Steve deserve each other, fuck you. That was _way too goddamn earnest_ for a dude who tried to shoot me two months ago. Now I can’t even be mad.”

Barnes met his eyes the whole time, face serious, but when Sam finished he noticed the corner of Barnes’ lips ticking up. Sam nodded in response. “You’re buying me a Bentley,” he told Barnes, and the tick turned into a wry half-smile, and fuck, Sam could see why Barnes had been considered eye candy back in the day.

“I’ll buy you a Bentley,” Steve offered, nose stuffed up and making him sound like a fucking Muppet. Sam reached over to grab a box of Kleenex from a side table, tossing it toward Barnes. He caught it easily, offering it to Steve, who didn’t so much as move a muscle from where his face was smashed into Barnes’ shoulder.

“Hell naw,” Sam said, keeping his voice light. “He’s gotta pay his own way on this, I’m not letting you buy him off.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, voice high in a way that said he had been fighting off hysterics silently for a minute and had broken his brain-mouth filter with the effort, “but when did you get here, and why the hell didn’t JARVIS let me know?”

Barnes had the ever-loving kindness to look embarrassed, going nearly as pink as Steve when Sam did the rap from _I Don’t Mind_. “Since Sunday.”

“Day _Two?_ ” Sam asked, incredulous, and Barnes nods.

“Took the elevator up, like the paper said. My floor’s nice. All gussied up,” he said. “Collapsed into bed, mostly. Woke up the next morning and I was gonna come down here, but I ran into Clint in the hall.” He nodded to Clint, who froze as though maybe nobody could see him if he went really, really still. “Had a panic attack the moment he saw me. He talked me down, though.” Barnes looked at Steve. “Don’t be mad at him, Stevie.”

“’m not,” Steve mumbled, and Clint’s shoulders did a nearly comedic drop from around his ears as he stared at Steve. Sam chuckled slightly as Steve said, all garbled against Barnes’ shirt, “He helped you, you said. I’m not mad.”

Barnes smiled, his metal arm stroking up and down Steve’s back in a motion that looked practiced, automatic. Sam wondered how much of Barnes they were talking to, how much of the Winter Soldier. Barnes looked so _composed_ , surrounded by an elite team of fighters, people he should see as dangerous. “Knew you’d forgive ‘m once you knew the score,” he said confidently, smiling at the top of Steve’s head. “Anyway. He talked me down, got me back on my floor, introduced me to the bots. I, uh. Shot the ceiling a bit, when I woke up the first time and it tried to tell me the date? But Clint introduced JARVIS.”

“JARVIS,” Tony said through his teeth. The ceiling responded with a tone Sam swore was regretful, and he was still not over the fact that the AI had emotions.

“He was quite polite about asking for his privacy, sir, and you _did_ implement the protocols for his comfort and privacy. Also, it seemed relevant to my primary mission to make sure Sergeant Barnes was as stable as possible before meeting you.”

“And Clint bribed you with more flowers,” Barnes said with the first grin he’d shown, lighting up his face. Steve raised his head as if he’d known it would be there, and he probably did just from Barnes’ tone, Sam realized, if they were as close as they’d been made out to be in the documentaries and shit.

“That as well,” the AI responded, as Barnes met eyes with Clint, who smiled back tentatively, a little bit of twinkle back in his eye. Thank fuck. The world was really wrong when Clint didn’t act like himself.

Tony stared at them both, eyes flicking back and forth like he was watching an invisible tennis match. “You _bribed JARVIS with flowers_.”

“He likes them,” Clint defended himself. “I got a whole bouquet, the girl at the shop said they were gorgeous.”

Nat, who had stayed between everyone else and Bruce, spoke up for the first time. “They’re selling you the flowers, Clint, they’re supposed to tell you that.”

Barnes’ head tilted up as he squinted at Nat, frowning. Steve glanced between them and, like the gentleman he was, immediately started on introductions.

“Bucky, that’s Natasha, she was in DC with me, um, when everything happened. Nat-Natasha, this is Bucky.”

“You’re supposed to introduce the lady first,” Bucky ribbed him, but his eyes hadn’t left Nat, who was scanning him with equal intensity. Clint watched them both with a growing grin.

“Is this sneaky Russian spy love at first sight? Because I’m claiming a front row seat if it is,” he joked, and they broke their creepy-ass staring contest to stare at him instead. Clint just waved cheekily. “I’m just saying.”

Steve blinked at all of them as though his poor emotionally exhausted brain had finally given up on understanding anything that was going on, and he huffed and flopped his head back down against Barnes’ shoulder with a sniffle. Sam patted his shoulder with a small smile.

“I’m Bruce,” Bruce said quietly, waving quietly when Barnes’ eyes flicked to his.

Barnes nodded at him. “The other side of the big green guy, right?” he asked, and Bruce considered this calmly.

“Most people consider us the other way round,” he replied, and Barnes grinned.

“I liked the big green guy,” he said. “Figure I’ll like you, too, once I get to know you.”

“Huh,” Bruce said, staring at him. Barnes smiled calmly back.

Sam felt himself shiver. It just didn’t sit right in his head, this calm, quiet-spoken man with a bit of a twinkle in his eye compared to the man who had strut down the street and faced off with Captain America. It was eerie. He liked this Barnes better, sure, but some part of his brain was waiting for him to be the traumatized man they’d all expected, even though he knew trauma didn’t present the same in everybody. He shifted on his feet, and Barnes looked up at him as if he knew what Sam had been thinking. Tony interrupted before either of them had a chance to speak.

“How’s your arm?” he asked. Barnes shifted his gaze to Tony, who looked back steadily.

“They made it waterproof,” he replied, seemingly knowing what Tony was actually asking. “But it doesn’t like the heat. Seems they counted on freezing me to keep it running; it gets grumpy in the summertime.”

Tony nodded. “Thought that might be an issue,” he said calmly, as though they weren’t talking about _a robot arm_ that had been _nonconsensually attached to Barnes’ body._ “When you feel comfortable looking over schematics, I have a few ideas. I’m not sure the blueprints I have are the most recent upgrade. Your wrist looks like it might have been changed.”

Barnes tilted his head on a pause, eventually quietly speaking. “Your parents.” 

“We’re doing this now, man? Really?” Tony asked, sounding exasperated, and began to tug off his shirt. Nat made a small noise of amusement as Sam stared in confusion, but then Tony was shrugging the t-shirt over his head, and the arc reactor was glowing at them all. “I have a few ideas about torture and body modification.”

Sam rocked back on his heels, shoving his hands in his pockets as he took a deep breath and let it out. So that was what Steve had meant when he said Stark ‘had some insights’ the other day. Fuck, man, that was dark. And remarkably mature of Tony.  He apparently needed to give Stark more credit.

Barnes, however, was sitting up despite a clingy Steve protesting unintelligibly. “What’s it do?” he asked, sounding fascinated.

“It powers a magnet that keeps shrapnel from working its way to stop my heart,” Tony said wryly. “You didn’t read all the articles on me?”

“I thought it was some kinda urban legend, or a publicity stunt,” Barnes admitted, but his eyes didn’t leave the reactor. “That’s fucking weird, Stark.”

“Says Robocop,” Tony said, cracking a smile.

Barnes gave an honest-to-God grin that made Sam shiver for a different reason,  before Tony’s words caught up and he  frowned, eyebrows drawing together with a tilt of his head. “I don’t know what you’re referencing, but I’m taking  offense anyway.”

“That’s the normal approach to Tony,” Clint assured him. Barnes directed his grin at Clint this time. Sam swore he saw a blush on Clint’s cheeks.

“Wait, so Barton knew you were here – is that where Clint’s been?” Sam blurted, looking between the two. Clint was definitely red now. Barnes’ arms tightened around Steve, who made a quiet broken sound that definitely sounded like Barnes’ name. 

“Yeah,” Barnes said, but it was to Steve, not to Sam. “He and JARVIS, really. I wasn’t too hot on the idea of staying after the first panic, but they talked me into giving it a try. Didn’t mean I wanted everyone to know right away. Barton just wouldn’t fuck off.”

Clint gave a quiet shrug. “Steve wouldn’t have wanted  you to feel unwelcome.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose as Steve looked up, scanning Clint’s face. Clint, to his credit, didn’t look away. Eventually Steve nodded once. “Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, I wouldn’t.” He looked at Barnes’ face next, frowning. “Still mad you wouldn’t tell  _me_ , though, Buck.”

Barnes scoffed. “Stevie,” he said patiently, “I’ve been the  guy tugging you out of scrapes since day one, pal. Azzano was a one-off, we’re not doing that shit again.”

Steve glared at him. “It can go both ways,” he said. Barnes stared, then his lips twitched and he began to snicker. “It can!” Steve protested, and Barnes tossed his head back, laughing in a way that made his  chest heave and face crinkle. “Bucky!” 

_What do you know,_ Sam thought. _Captain America whines when he doesn’t get his way._

Barnes tugged at Steve, laughing still, and ruffled metal fingers through Steve’s hair. “You’re a punk,” he said. Steve’s face immediately dropped the upset and  shifted to something like adoring, eyes wide. 

Sam shook his head as Nat got up. “Let’s give these two some privacy,” she announced, and headed for the elevator. “Clint?  Sam?  Range?”

Clint whooped and wheeled his scooter after her. Sam followed too, figuring he might as well. Banner went for the stairs, already with his  _Science!_ face on. Tony was the only one who lingered, but Sam watched him shrug and head for another elevator before their elevator doors closed on the tableau of Barnes murmuring quietly in Steve’s ear. 

As the elevator dropped, Sam had the feeling none of them were prepared for what they’d gotten in Bucky Barnes.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Potomac + two months and twelve days** _

“I can’t believe you lied to Captain America,” Katie-Kate said on the other end of the phone. Clint groaned.

“I know. I know! I’m so fucked, Kate. So, so fucked.” He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. “But I just couldn’t.”

“You’re a mess,” Kate agreed, and Clint chose to believe she meant it fondly. “How the hell did you manage to be the one Bucky Barnes confided in?”

“I have no clue,” Clint admitted. “He’s really nice, Kate.”

“Between Natasha and Barnes, you’re starting a collection,” she warned, and added wryly, “let me know when you pick up Batman at a diner or something.”

“Batman’s not an assassin,” Clint protested, and Kate made an exasperated sound.

“ _That’s_ your best argument?! You’re a mess, Clint Barton. A mess. Listen, I have to go, I’m meeting up with a friend for coffee.”

“Coffee?” Clint sat up, and Kate sighed.

“Go get your own, Hawkeye,” she said, and hung up.

Clint pouted at his phone. “Rude,” he told it, then sighed quietly as he flopped back to stare at the ceiling again.

Even Nat had asked him what he was thinking when he chose to keep Bucky’s secret. The fact was, though, that it hadn’t felt like a choice. It had felt like the draw and release of his bow: instinctive, and necessary as breathing.

It had started with coffee. Which made sense, because coffee was one of the great loves of Clint Barton’s life, so of course it only gave him good things. Despite the awkwardness of keeping secrets from Steve, Clint definitely counted Bucky as a Good Thing.

Anyway. Coffee. Namely, Clint’s coffee machine breaking (he still didn’t know what he’d done to deserve that) and therefore forcing him to head up to the communal floor and use the machine there.

He’d been racing his way down the hall in the Wheelchair of Awesome (which he missed) when he’d turned a corner quickly and collided with a pair of knees. Which was when he’d had to dodge the knife like _whoa_ , and backed up in time to see a fucking handsome dude clinging to the wall across from him, dropping the knife and beginning to breathe in the sort of way Clint recognized as _not fun._

“Hey,” he’d said, “I’m used to hitting my targets, not supermodels,” because Clint was a _moron_ , but somehow the moron thing had _worked_.

Which was still shocking, honestly, but it meant that he’d gotten to see Bucky Barnes laugh so hard he nearly choked. Sure, half of that was probably hysteria from the adverted panic attack, but hey, Clint counted it as a win anyhow. Besides, it was catching, watching Bucky giggle at him so hard he had his metal arm wrapped round his ribs. Clint had ended up chuckling despite himself.

By the time Bucky had caught his breath, he’d been limp-limbed and sitting against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of him like a kid. “Oh, man,” he’d groaned quietly at his lap, and he’d looked up at Clint. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Clint had said, and that was that. Clint was fucked. So, so fucked.

Bucky’d asked him what the rush was, pal, and Clint had told him about the coffeemaker. Bucky had said there was one in his fancy-ass kitchen but he didn’t know how to work it, and Clint had offered to make them both a cup. Bucky had accepted the offer, and next thing you know Clint Barton was happily sipping a cuppa joe in the Winter Soldier’s new kitchen, listening as the man himself complained about how Great Depression coffee was always fucking watered down and made of reused grinds and shit. World War II apparently didn’t have coffee, according to Bucky, and Clint had made a doubtful noise and Bucky had growled at him and insisted _that shit was not coffee_ , and Clint had believed him.

Clint was done for. Because Bucky was funny and clever, like Tony, and had Steve’s sense of justice and stubbornness, and was handsome as all hell while having Nat’s dark sense of humor, and _why did Clint always fall for people out of his league?!_

The world just wasn’t fair, honestly. He’d never asked for this. When Bucky asked if he could have a few days to get used to the place before meeting the others, Clint had nodded along in the blissful daze of the adoring fanboy, and it wasn’t until he’d left the floor that he’d realized that meant lying to Captain America.

So Clint did what he did best: avoided the shit out of the issue. Which turned out not to be that hard, actually, because Bucky had a lot of questions about U and JARVIS and the TV remote and Clint’s opinions of different types of coffee beans, so Clint spent a lot of time on Bucky’s floor, and then a lot of time feeling guilty as soon as he left.

Then they’d given him the scooter. He’d had a celebratory race with DUM-E, because just ‘cause he spent most of his time with U these days didn’t mean he’d forgotten his baby bot, and then he’d shown Barnes his newfound freedom.

Barnes had named the scooter Dolores, and Clint still didn’t fucking know why. He could probably ask Steve, whenever Steve left Bucky for more than the two minutes it took for Bucky to use the restroom.

Which was Clint’s problem now, because Dolores had dumped him and had lead to Steve catching on, and JARVIS had informed Bucky of the situation, and now everyone knew Bucky was here and Clint had to share his new assassin buddy.

He should probably be happy for Bucky.

Probably.

Instead he was mostly jealous and a little lonely. Nat was treating him with her best _no, really, we’re fine, I just have taken all the fun parts of the friendship away_ attitude for the principle of the thing, which meant it would be at least a day before she was nice to him again. Sam was worrying over Steve, who wouldn’t leave Bucky, and Tony was torn between being nice to Clint and somehow blaming him for the fact that JARVIS had kept their secret. Bruce, as usual, was sucked up in _Science!_

Clint had raced DUM-E again just to waste a few hours, which had gotten him to lunchtime today. He’d expected everyone to end up in the common areas for lunch, but apparently not, because he’d ended up eating his sandwich on his own. At which point he’d called Kate to check on Lucky, because he was a responsible part-time dog owner like that, and also because he needed to whine, and he’d listened to enough of Kate’s whining for him to get away with it.

He was bored again, now, and there were three dog-shaped splotches in the ceiling, if you looked closely at the textured drywall shit they had up there.

His phone buzzed, and he jumped, immediately reaching to see if Kate had changed her mind about coffee.

_Send help I am being suffocated by a supersoldier_

_Steve has been replaced by a koala bear_

_[img1.jpg]_

Clint stared at his phone. “JARVIS? Did you give Bucky my number?”

“He requested it,” JARVIS replied, “I found no reason not to. Was it unacceptable?”

“Naw, we’re good,” Clint said, already typing back as he stared at the photo of Steve from above, obviously clinging to an extremely attractive torso, with his legs wrapped around the clinging-recipient’s knees, very much like the koala Bucky was referencing.

_Have you tried bribing him to get off you?_

He headed to the kitchen, deciding he really did want coffee, and his phone buzzed on the way, making him nearly fall off Dolores again when he tried to open the message and steer. He ended up having to wait until he was in the kitchen and stopped moving.

_Bribe him with what_

Clint grinned at his phone.

_Truth, justice, and the American Way?_

There was a long break in texts while Clint made coffee with his new coffeemaker. Tony had replaced the broken one, but with the cheapest Wal-mart model he could find. Clint suspected this was supposed to be revenge, but really it just meant he was fully confident he knew how to work the damn thing.

_[img2.jpg]_

_I mentioned the Dodgers as a distraction technique_

_It went bad I request immediate extraction_

_The koala has officially lost his shit_

Clint almost spewed his newly brewed coffee all over his kitchen. The photo was of Steve, sitting up, obviously mid-rant, but he still had both legs wrapped around Bucky’s. They’d all heard the Dodgers Rant, but at least Clint had never been pinned in place throughout. Thank god.

_Coulda warned you about that one. Sorry, man, you’re fucked. He won’t stop until he’s literally ranted himself to sleep._

Bucky’s response was a selfie: _img3.jpg_ was a very sneaky shot from the unflattering angle of about waist-height so it was pointed up at his chin and nose, with Bucky very clearly rolling his eyes.

Clint snapped a photo of himself with his coffee and a shit-eating grin, and sent it back.

Thus started the Secret Sniper Selfie War. Clint spent the next hour trading pictures back and forth with Bucky, aside from a brief intermission in which he explained how to download Snapchat. Then it turned into the Secret Sniper Snapchat Selfie War, or the 4-S War, as Clint informed Bucky in Snapchat number 1.

They managed to discuss the Dodgers Rant, Steve and Baseball, Baseball vs. Other Sports, Other Sports vs. Shooting, and Machine Guns vs. Regular Guns via Snapchat captions over the rest of the afternoon.

He was making mac-n-cheese for dinner when the next Snapchat turned out to be a video. He tapped it curiously.

Steve was glaring at the person behind the camera. “You’ve been _Snapchatting?_ What the hell is a _Snapchat?_ ” he asked angrily, and then paused, putting on his best ‘betrayed and disappointed’ face. “Buck. You can’t ignore Captain America. That’s _unpatriotic.”_ Somehow Steve managed not to crack as Bucky’s cackle started from behind the camera and the video cut out.

Clint grinned and sent back a selfie of himself with a giant grin.

_In Soviet Russia, Snap chats you!_

Bucky took a screenshot.

The next day Nat decided she could be a fun friend again, and Sam seemed to be equally bored when Cap was being a koala, so they all went to the StarkTech Employee Bowling Alley on floor 35. Clint won, because it was aiming a thing at a group of things, and he was good at that. Sam surprisingly came in second, but Clint wasn’t sure if that was Nat throwing the game or not.

Nat liked Sam in the way Clint would never, ever bring up to her face, because she’d knife him between the ribs. It was like watching a baby birdling get stalked by a puma that occasionally brought it gifts of expensive vodka.

Clint liked Sam too, which was good because if he’d been anything less than worthy of the vodka, they’d have had issues. As it was, when Sam hit his final strike and fist-pumped both hands in the air, he just sat back on the 80’s style plastic seat that smelled of spilled booze and nacho cheese and pretended to be engaged with fitting the last of his hotdog into his mouth, letting Nat be the one to nod approval when Sam turned around.

Sam grinned as he came back to sprawl on the seat next to Clint. Nat, sitting across from them, took off her bowling shoes and propped her socked feet in Sam’s lap. Sam didn’t even blink in response, just grinned at Clint. “Good game, man. Fuck, I haven’t bowled in ages.”

“Stark made the place as a joke with Hogan,” Nat said dryly. “Don’t think he expected people to use it as much as they do.”

“Huh. Who named it?” Sam asked, and Nat’s lips twitched.

“I’d guess Hogan did. Pepper would have added _out_ to the end,” she said, eyeing the _StarkStrikes_ logo on the side of her soda before taking a long sip.

Sam had a nice laugh, Clint thought, swallowing his giant-ass bite of hotdog with some effort.

“Too bad you couldn’t convince Cap to play with us. I wanted to watch him accidentally toss the ball through the plaster.”

“Cap’s got better control than that,” Nat said, and Clint grinned.

“Not when he’s super-sniper-tickled.”

Sam burst into laughter. “Oh damn, I pictured it. Barnes probably would, too.”

Nat hummed, tilting her head. “What do you think of him? Barnes.”

They all went quiet, until Sam began to speak, each word careful, like he’d plucked them out of the dictionary, hand-picked. “I like him. I want to like him, too. It’s like… he’s easy, easy to please and talk to and laugh with. He got Steve stuck on the Dodgers yesterday, turns out he spent the whole Dodgers Rant Snapchatting somebody.” Clint raised his hand, grinning, and Sam chuckled, nodding his acknowledgment before going serious again.

“It feels too easy. The first time I tried my wings, everyone warned me that it was gonna be difficult, you know? Adjusting to the weight, the controls, all that shit. But instead it was like I’d been missing them and just didn’t know I’d needed them; strapped on the pack and I was _flying,_ man, it was incredible. I was all up there with the birds and shit, going, _this is easy, what the hell were those guys talking about_ , and then I looked down and realized I had to land.” Sam snorted. “That was the fucking hard part.”

Nat nodded once, eyes flickering over Sam’s face. To anyone else it looks like disinterest; Clint, however, gets the incredibly amusing feeling that she wants to _lick_ Sam somehow, like a possessive mother cat. “You’re waiting for the landing,” she said, and Sam paused, but then gave an aborted nod and a shrug.

“I like him,” Clint said firmly. “I mean, yeah, I think we’ll probably get some issues, but when he showed up he didn’t run from the shit, you know? Stared you in the face and apologized. Same for Tony. We all have issues, this tower is a nuthouse. Except you, Sam, you’re like – like the M&Ms in our mix of nuts.”

“We’re trail mix now?” Sam asked, snorting, and Clint grinned.

“Tony’s the raisins,” he said, “all wrinkled up and gross on the outside but sweet and gooshy on the inside.”

“And very much an acquired taste,” Nat added, eyes twinkling, and Sam finally laughed. Clint gave an internal fist-pump; they’d had their chat about the Important Shit and nobody had cried or gotten upset and Nat would be pleased Sam was laughing. Clint was _awesome._

“Speaking of the man,” Sam said, stretching, “he told me that I had to be back at six for dinner, he’s making meatloaf. Steve immediately started freaking out at the idea, so I’m assuming it’s something he’s good at making, or at least was, once. Either way I guess I’m headed upstairs to try it.”

“Snapchat me updates,” Clint said instantly, and Sam grinned.

“Serve him right, after yesterday,” he agreed, gently moving Nat’s feet out of his lap and onto the chair as he got up. Nat just wiggled her socked toes in response, nodding as he left to turn in his bowling ball and shoes.

Clint glanced over at Nat. “What do you think of him?” he asked, because she wouldn’t have brought Bucky up if she hadn’t been thinking on it.

“I know him. Don’t know if he knows me,” she said, and narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Clint blinked, and then blinked again. “Yeah, okay,” he said, because he knew better than to try to pry things out of Nat. “But you don’t think he’s gonna murder us all in our beds, I guess?”

Nat snorted a laugh. “I think if he’d wanted to, we’d already be dead. I think he wants to make meatloaf, and so he’s doing that instead.”

“Huh.” Clint considered that idea – Bucky being so skilled that even Nat didn’t feel capable of ever containing him. “Man. And I thought I liked the guy _before_ this conversation. Do you think he’d marry me if I asked really nicely?”

“You might have to fight Steve for him,” Nat said, amused, propping her feet in Clint’s lap and nudging his thigh in a silent order. Clint gamely began to massage the sole of her foot as he stared into the middle distance.

“Maybe if I caught Cap in a net arrow first, I could propose really fast and run before he got free,” he mused, and Nat tipped her head back in laughter.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Potomac + two and a half months** _

Tony glared at the piece he was soldering. “No, DUM-E – you’re a goddamn tragedy – stop fucking twitching! And – there. Maybe. Go away, you’re in my light.” He shooed DUM-E out of the way, picking up the soldered pieces and grabbing the remote he was using in lieu of neural feedback, turning it on and pressing a button. “Et voila,” he muttered to himself when the fingers on the prototype moved as he’d wanted. “JARVIS, make a note, connection 6 needs a rework, that thing can’t be faulty when it’s attached to somebody.”

“Noted, sir,” JARVIS replied, and Tony frowned, making the prototype flip off nothing as the computer continued. “It is nearly three AM, sir.”

“Yeah? What of it?”

“The average human is encouraged to get an average of eight hours of sleep per 24 hour period, sir.”

Tony glared at nothing, sticking a coin in the fingers of the prototype and trying to roll it across its knuckles using the remote. “Can’t, J, gotta test manual dexterity first, don’t worry about it. DUM-E, you gorgeous hunk of idiot, start the Keurig.”

“Sir-” JARVIS began, but Tony was already sitting up.

“Actually, JARVIS, get me a blueprint of the Keurig.”

“Searching, sir. Do you suspect a bomb in your coffee maker?”

“I love your sarcasm module, seriously. And no. I just hate that I have _another brand_ sitting in my workshop,” Tony said, getting up to look at the blueprint. “Yeah, see, this is bullshit, I can make this at least six times more efficient, not to mention if I started marketing my pod-filler we could reduce coffee and plastic waste–” He shifted to a workbench and shoved a bunch of old files off the hologram, making room as he gestured over the blueprint, scanned it, and began to tug apart the virtual machine.

“In my day we just did a pour-over,” said a wry voice, and Tony’s head flew up.

“Fuck! Fuck you, I will have a _heart attack_ , what the hell!” he swore at Bucky, who was watching him with a bemused tilt to his lips and offering a mug of coffee with _FEmale_ written on the side. Tony had gotten those mugs printed for Pepper as a joke, but she’d ended up making a ton as free handouts last June for the Pride Parade, with nonbinary flags on them. This was one of the flag-less ones. Tony wondered where Bucky had found it.

“Sorry,” Bucky said, not sounding sorry at all. “Peace offering. Hello, DUM-E.”

“I don’t like to be handed things,” Tony told him. Bucky didn’t blink, just set the coffee on the worktable instead. Tony took the mug as the bot rolled up, inspecting Bucky’s arm with a curious twitter of beeps.

Bucky glanced at DUM-E with a patient smile. “I’ve met your sibling upstairs.”

DUM-E booped his agreement, then tugged on Bucky’s finger curiously. Bucky smirked and let him before freeing his finger and tugging one of DUM-E’s claws in gentle retaliation. DUM-E gave a startled _beeep_ and wriggled free before hiding behind Tony, who tilted his head to look at him.

“Coward. You’re running away from a metal arm? You _are_ a metal arm,” Tony told the bot, but DUM-E ignored his jibes with the ease of long practice. “Ridiculous,” Tony scoffed, turning back to Bucky, who was eyeing the pulled-apart-coffee-hologram warily.

“That’s not what you plan to do to this, right?” he asked, tilting his head toward his own metal shoulder, and Tony rolled his eyes.

“Course I’m gonna. Scan and dismantle; that way I don’t actually have to touch your grimy World-War-Two relic.”

Bucky snorted. “I _am_ the grimy World War Two relic.” He rolled his head back and forth, stretching it out. “Where are we doing this?”

“What, now? – I mean right, yes, now, here, we’ll just–” Tony’s eyes went wide and he immediately turned around and began to lead the way across the room, weaving around DUM-E and hunks of half-finished project that he was _eventually going to finish_ that he’d left lying around, why was that even _there?_ “You cool with X-rays? Cause that’s probably easiest and I’ve got one set up in the corner, use it occasionally on myself, you know, because of the–” He tapped on the arc reactor. Sometimes he just needed to get up and make sure the metal hadn’t actually reached his heart. “And it’s noninvasive so it’ll be easy-peasy _just-stand-still for a moment_ , you know, instead of getting all in your personal space, not that you seem to need it, Cap’s like a limpet, honestly, have you had a single moment of peace? Anyway–”

“He’s asleep,” Bucky said from behind him, sounding like he was trying to hold in a chuckle, and Tony glanced quickly over his shoulder to check. Yep, Bucky was amused, he even had Natalie’s half-smirk on his lips; that was fucking weird to see on another person. “I had to sneak out once he was finally snoring, cause otherwise he tries to follow me to the bathroom. Left him a note. X-rays are fine.”

“You’re a more patient man than I am, Bucky – Barnes? James, whatever, tell me what you like I’ll call you it, anyway,” Tony rambled. “I can’t do ten minutes before I get the _Cap-is-disappointed-in-you_ face, you’ve probably set an in-tower record for avoiding the face, wow, that deserves a trophy or something, do you prefer platinum or gold?” He hit the scanner’s on-switch, hearing the familiar hum of it powering up.

Bucky had gone still, and Tony glanced over to see him staring at Tony with a contemplative look on his face.

“What do you want to be called?” he asked, and Tony turned away as a shiver slipped down his spine, because Bucky’s voice was low velvet, quietly inviting Tony to spill secrets.

“Tony’s fine,” he said blithely, shaking it off, but Bucky _hummed_ in response, and the shiver came back.

“Bucky, then,” Bucky said, and holy _shit_ , he’d come closer without Tony hearing, and Tony only barely managed to keep himself from jumping again.

“Right, good. Bucky it is. Go stand on the X,” Tony said, and lifted his head to glance at Bucky, who was _right there._ Bucky was scanning his face like it was Wikipedia and he was studying for a final exam, which made Tony blink and shift slightly, wondering what he was looking for. Maybe Steve had ruined his sense of personal space. That was likely, considering Captain America had turned into a magnet irrevocably attracted toward Bucky these days.

“Your wish, my command,” Bucky murmured, and the shiver in Tony’s spine slid up to the back of his neck, curling round his skull like a physical touch. Before he could process the feeling, Bucky moved over to the scanning floor, humming. “Arms out or down?”

“Out, for now, then we’ll take another with them down,” Tony said automatically before hitting the button. Bucky held his arms out as the scanner went round once, and then Tony nodded for him to lower them before scanning again. Bucky did, looking amused as the long arm and shield of the scanner spun around him.

Tony watched him. He made no sense. Bucky should be scared – upset. Angry. How the hell was he even functional? And yet there he stood, arms out, looking almost peaceful as he was scanned tip-to-toe by Tony. He shouldn’t trust Tony; Tony had every right to keep a grudge. He didn’t, but he could have, and yet there Bucky was, arms out, fuck, smiling over at Tony like they shared a secret. They didn’t share a secret. Did they share a secret?

This was ridiculous. He tapped the keyboard, pulling up the X-rays on his screens, and immediately winced.

“How the _hell_ ,” he said hoarsely, “are you fucking standing, Bucky Barnes?”

Bucky glanced at him, and his eyes went wide for a moment before he swiftly came over. “Hey,” he said. “Hey, sit down before you fall down, here.” He tugged a stool over and lowered Tony into it, his boot holding it down so it wouldn’t wheel and shift.

“No,” Tony said, feeling slightly dizzy and not quite sure why, it was probably because it was three in the morning. “No, I. I’m supposed to be taking care of you.” Screws in his back – wires in his goddamn spine. _Bastards._ “Barnes.” He stared up at Bucky’s face, recognizing worry in the crease between his eyes. “Bucky. You shouldn’t be standing. How are you standing. This wasn’t. They didn’t put this in the records. They –”

“Lied,” Bucky confirmed with a blithe shrug of his metal shoulder, and Tony fixed on it and felt his stomach flip twice, imagining how the movement would pull on his back, his spine, the screws – he closed his eyes and swallowed against rising bile. Fuck. Bucky was still talking, and Tony tried to focus on his words instead, even though they weren’t much better. “After SHIELD got Zola’s projects, he had to look like he knew what he was doing, like stuff was successful, didn’t he? Yeah, the heads of SHIELD were clueless about me, but the guys writing Zola’s paychecks – the upper levels of Hydra – they knew, and they wanted assurance they weren’t paying out for nothin’, so Zola left out a lot of the mistakes. It just kinda went from there; handlers weren’t gonna report they’d been playing around with the Asset, were they? By then I was too valuable. Half the shit in my file is lies. Or, well. Not lies, just half the truth.”

“That’s supposed to be the good half?” Tony asked, forcing his eyes open. Bucky’s eyes were gentle. He was so gentle. Who the hell taught him gentleness? Not Hydra. Someone before. Maybe his ma. Not Steve, honestly, the man was a bulldozer. Maybe Steve’s ma. Or maybe it was just deep, something in the core of Bucky Barnes that led him to Steve-the-bulldozer in the first place.

“I wouldn’t call it good. It’s the less-shit half. On a shit-scale of meconium to Taco Bell diarrhea...” Bucky mused, pretending to consider, and Tony felt himself give a hysterical giggle.

“Who taught you about Taco Bell?”

Bucky’s face creased with a grin. “Kid in Queens wearin’ blue and red pajamas. I told him I was sick of food feeling all glass-and-chrome, and he told me if I wanted something to delight the taste buds and turn my stomach, I should hit the Taco Bell on Atlantic Avenue. So I did. Did you know they put fuckin’ crunchy shit in burritos? Weird as hell.”

Tony stared at him. “You asked Spider-man for directions to comfort food. And he told you _Taco Bell_.”

“I mean. He was right, but I don’t know how he keeps himself from shitting all over his pajama pants,” Bucky said dryly.

“Sometimes,” Tony blurted, “you and Steve are so old, you know. Steve’s all, he’ll say things like ‘going to the pictures’ and call Pepper ‘ma’am’ and it’s just. Old. And then other times, like right now, I realize you’re both like. Barely out of college. Taco Bell. Fuck.” He scrubbed his face.

Bucky tilted his head. “Thanks, I think. Steve was an old man even in the 30’s, though, it’s just Stevie being Steve. You ever notice all his letters in that damn museum are handwritten? They’ve got ‘em all under glass, with notes like _Captain Rogers wrote to Sergeant Barnes often after Barnes was drafted in 1942. While we know Capt. Rogers owned a Wahl-Eversharp Personal Point fountain pen, he often wrote to Barnes in pencil, likely the same ones used in his art._ ” Bucky’s 1930’s announcer voice was uncanny.

“Yeah,” Tony said slowly. “What of it? Pencils weren’t old fashioned.”

“The chump owned a typewriter, Tony,” Bucky said. “I should know, I gave it to him, a pretty little Smith-Corona I stole from the trash behind an office block and fixed up a bit. And what did he do? Write me letters in smeared graphite, because he’s a punk.” His hand was on Tony’s shoulder still, left there from guiding him into the stool, and so Tony knew Bucky could feel him laughing, but Bucky didn’t stop. “He was like that with _everything_. I took him to the Stark Expo the night before I shipped out, and he snuck off trying to enlist again. Bored by _flying cars._ I was showin’ him the future, and he would go out and spend his pocket change on the same shit my granddad used.”

“Oh, god,” Tony gasped between silent giggles, “Steve Rogers, the original hipster.”

“Brooklyn through and through,” Bucky said proudly, grinning, and Tony lost his shit, laughing so hard it was silent and he struggled to breathe, sucking in gasps of air only to laugh them out of his chest again. Bucky snickered quietly next to him, hand still steady on his shoulder. Tony slumped into it once he’d laughed himself down to just the occasional giggle burst.

“You fixed up his typewriter?” he asked, chest heaving enough that he could feel the arc reactor sliding a little in the sheath that let his chest expand. It tickled.

“Yeah. Tail end of the Depression when I was born, and Ma said everybody needed a skill that wasn’t gonna leave ‘em stuck if the fancy businesspeople all lost their jobs, so she had me going to the mechanic-handyman down the street when I was twelve or so. I liked it. Half of it was cars, and then he said I had good hands for detail, so he moved me inside and started me on the washers and dryers and radios.”

“And typewriters,” Tony said. His abs ached from laughing.

“And typewriters,” Bucky agreed with a tilt of his head, eyes twinkling. “Not that it did a lot of good for Steve O’Stubbornhead.”

Tony reached up to pat his hand. “It’s not just you. I had to pretend I was upgrading my phone to get him to finally carry one. I could hand him the nicest shit on the market, and what does he decide to grab when the fighting starts? A modified frisbee. It’s a great frisbee, I love the frisbee-”

“-But I’d really, _really_ love it if he’d use it as a _shield_ , as it was _meant_ to be used, instead of as a _flying decapitator,”_ Bucky finished for him, grumbling. He let go of Tony’s shoulder when Tony straightened again, brightening up.

“You wanna see my thing?” he asked, and Bucky cocked an eyebrow.

“Is that a euphemism?” he asked, then trailed his eyes down and back up again. “Never mind. Answer’s yes.”

“Is that a – no!” Tony stuttered, but Bucky was grinning at him. Tony stood, marching off. “Fuck you, wanna show you cool shit, see if I show you cool shit.” He glanced behind him. Bucky was still standing by the stool. “Keep up!” he shouted over his shoulder. Bucky perked up and grinned, catching up with a few strides, damn tall people with their long legs.

Two hours later, Tony was glad he had short legs because it meant he had a shorter fall when he was knocked on his ass. He stared at the ceiling, blinking spots out of his vision. Fuck.

Bucky snorted next to him, equally knocked on his ass, and Tony told the ceiling, “I told him not to poke it.” Bucky’s snort turned into a snicker, and Tony continued, voice dry as all hell, “I told him not to poke it. Told him _definitely_ not to poke it with his metal arm. Told him it could be a problem. JARVIS, replay the bit where I told him not to poke it.”

JARVIS replied dryly, “Which time, sir?”

Bucky’s snickers turned into guffaws, and Tony couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “All of them.”

JARVIS began to replay Tony’s voice relaying the requested warning, but every replay just seemed to make Bucky laugh harder. By the fourth, Tony was laughing nearly as hard as he was, and by the sixth, Bucky was making little squeaking wheezes between breaths.

“What the hell?” asked Captain America, glaring at them from the stairway. He was in nothing but blue pajama pants and the shield on one arm, staring at them both in bewilderment, obviously having rolled out of bed and run down at the sound of the explosion.

Bucky rolled over, tears leaking down his face, and pounded his fist to the floor as he laughed. Tony gripped his abs with one hand, the other arm flailing to hit Bucky’s, gasping out, “Oh, don’t, stop, oh no, I’ll pee myself!”

The elevator door opened, and Natalie and Clint stared down at them both, Clint with an arrow nocked. They froze and finally Clint spoke up.

“I don’t think I like it when these two get along,” he said dryly, lowering his bow.

“And how,” said Captain America.

“Natalia?” said Bucky Barnes.


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky stared up at the woman – _Natalia_ , his little girl, Кошечка. She stared back down at him, her face familiar; she’d made the same expression when she was young. She’d finally managed to flip him over her shoulder the way he’d taught her. He’d been flat on his back, just like now, and she’d turned and given him the same half-smirk, secretly pleased with herself, secretly amused at him.

She raised her eyebrows at her name. “Did Stark knock a few memories back into place?” she asked, and Bucky scrambled to his feet, ignoring the way Stevie was staring at him, and the way Tony was blinking in confusion.

“I had them, I just – you look different. You grew up,” Bucky said, eyes wide as he took her in, tip to toe. “You grew up,” he repeated. He could see her now, in the way she stood, in the way her eyes twinkled at him. He grinned back at the twinkle. “Кошечка. When did you get so big?”

She was laughing at him, in her silent way. “Oh, sometime between the Red Room and now.”

“If I hug you are you going to flip me onto my ass?” he asked, and that finally got her to smile externally instead of just in her eyes.

Clint was now the only person in the room who didn’t look like he was trying to catch flies with his mouth. He was grinning in response to Natalia’s smile, and Bucky liked him more for it, but couldn’t be bothered to look at him outside of his peripheral, because – Natalia.

“No,” she said, “I think we’re owed a few hugs.” Bucky didn’t wait for her to finish before he was tugging her in, hiding his face in her hair.

She was smaller than him still, but she’d grown up, and yet she wasn’t nearly as old as she should have been. She’d _survived_ , tougher, harder than he remembered. He found himself viciously glad, knowing that his lessons were probably used by the Red Room to make her a weapon, to use her in terrible ways, and he didn’t _care_ , because she’d survived. Survived long enough to get away. His arms tightened slightly as he took a shuddering breath, feeling her grip him nearly as tightly.

<What sort of memory am I?> he asked quietly, wondering. She might resent him. She could. Probably should. The thought made his chest ache.

<The kind I hug back,> she replied, and Bucky had to close his eyes and breathe through that for a moment, in for five, out for eight, nice and slow.

Pajama Kid had told him that was called _grounding yourself_ and _activating your parasympathetic nervous system._ Pajama Kid should have been at home being a kid instead of trying to chase down street muggers, but he seemed like the kinda kid who did well in school, so he was probably right. Bucky had just called it _remembering to breathe_ , which didn’t sound as educated.

He opened his eyes, pulling back to kiss her cheeks. <You aren’t as old as you should be.>

She gave a beautiful Slavic shrug. She’d perfected that by 12, he remembered. <The Red Room got your blood, worked on their own Serum. It only worked on me. They gave up when they lost too many. The other Widows got old.>

Bucky grounded himself for another few breaths. (“Y’know, you’re doing pretty good,” Pajama Kid had said. “I mean, I have anxiety sometimes, and that’s basically what all the therapists told me to do. The meds don’t work on me.”

“Yeah?” Bucky had said. “Does that have anything to do with whatever is makin’ you stick to the wall?”

“I stick to anything!” the kid had said proudly, before admitting, “but yeah, I think so. And I’m always hungry.”

“High metabolisms tend to f-screw with taking drugs, and they make you hungry as sh-as shucks,” Bucky had commiserated, and when he left he tossed the kid one of his duffle bags of stolen Hydra cash and told him to get himself a candy bar or something. The kid had gone all high-pitched when he opened the bag, but Bucky had slipped off before he could catch up. Bucky was skilled like that.)

<I’m sorry,> he said, but Natalia shook her head.

<I’m not. I was bad enough,> she said. Point to Natalia; Bucky really didn’t like the idea of multiple Super-Serumed Red Room assassins. Didn’t mean he couldn’t mourn the little girls he’d taught to fight.

<You got out,> he pointed out, and she snorted as Barton spoke up.

<She had me,> he said, grinning like a loon. <I wooed her over to the good side with my intelligence and sex appeal.>

<He stalked me and made bad puns until I was morally obligated to make sure nobody killed him before I did,> Natalia said flatly, eyes sparkling.

Clint shrugged, still grinning. <I have a way with ex-Russians,> he told Bucky, <You didn’t pop my cherry, Buck, sorry.>

<I’m brokenhearted.> Bucky held his metal hand to his chest, making his face go serious, and Natalia snorted at them both.

“Okay, Russian’s on my to-learn list already, but I haven’t had time to learn it yet so I’m invoking _it’s rude to speak in secret languages in front of your landlord_ ,” Tony announced.

“Maybe you should have prioritized,” Natalia shot back at him, smirking as she stepped back, and Bucky let his arm drop.

“You feeling left out, Cap? I’m feeling left out,” Tony complained. Bucky glanced over at Steve. He was still holding his shield like he didn’t know what to do with it, eyes wide as he came over, not even a shirt on. He was gonna get cold.

“Bucky?” Steve asked, because he was _exactly the same as Bucky remembered_. That was the most bizarre part of this, weirder than Natalia growing up, even; Stevie had stayed the same. He’d literally frozen, the same as when Bucky had fallen, like the fall from the train had just hit _pause_ on little Stevie Rogers (big Stevie Rogers, same difference, same chump) until Bucky could find him again.

Which meant Steve was absolutely getting the wrong end of the stick, because that was Steve all over. Bucky had a moment of remembering Howard, laughing as he told the 107 th  about Steve thinking _fondue_ was a euphemism. Bucky hadn’t thought it was all that funny, because it wasn’t like Stevie wasn’t clever, and Howard always made it sound like Steve was second-rate because he wasn’t _scientific_. Steve was great with smarts. Tactically brilliant. The guy just sucked at figuring out relationships. Not just romantic ones, though he was terrible with those and only got worse once he was big; Steve just never could pick up on how people related to one another. He’d asked Jimmy O’Connell if the girl he’d brought to the films was his lady, when it turned out to be his cousin. Jimmy didn’t take kindly to the question, because he’d already got a sweetheart – not that Steve had known that – and he’d given Steve a black eye, which had meant that Bucky had to give Jimmy a black eye in return.

Point was, Steve was probably thinking something dumb, like imagining a lovestruck Russian romance with a front cover that had Bucky shirtless in the snow with St. Petersburg in the background and Natalia swooning in his arms, like one of those books Bucky had seen for sale in the bodega the other day, next to the greeting cards. He’d had to stare at it for a solid seven minutes, because it was just _sitting there_ in public. It wasn’t something he’d ever bothered to notice when Hydra had him on a mission, but now he didn’t have a mission he had time to notice. He’d had a moment to think about what Stevie’s ma would have had to say about that front cover, and then he’d crossed himself even though he wasn’t Catholic, because he’d felt dirty and needed to do something about it. Steve had been awake for three years, so he’d probably seen the books too, which meant he’d have seen plenty of awful covers to mentally paste Bucky and Natalia’s faces to, which was just. Ugh. No, pal, get your head out of there.

On the other hand, half of it was Natalia’s story, and he didn’t know how much she wanted them to know. Best to keep it vague.

“I taught Natalia how to fight,” he said, “In the Red Room. They let me stay unfrozen, though they fried me every couple of days. She was…” Bucky frowned, and held his hand to about his belly button. Natalia made an affronted noise and adjusted it to his nipple height, and Bucky gave her a sharp look and put it in the middle, where his ribcage ended. “...about this tall, then.”

Steve looked relieved – of course he did, ridiculous, somebody get this guy _laid_ already – and smiled hesitantly. “You taught her to fight?”

“She ever tossed your giant ass over her shoulder?” Bucky asked, and Steve nodded. Bucky grinned. “That’s all me, pal. You’re welcome for the entertainment,” he added to Tony, who was glancing between them all like he knew Bucky was leaving something out. He probably did, but if he asked, Bucky would just refer him on to Natalia, so that was fine.

Tony narrowed his eyes at Natalia after a moment. “The same move you used on Happy?” he asked, and Natalia’s lips twitched. Tony paused, and then tilted his head very slowly. Natalia hummed.

“You’re trying to picture which of us is sexier doing it,” she said dryly.

“I’m not _trying_ to picture anything,” Tony retorted, “I _am_ picturing it. I am picturing it _vividly._ I have a _very good_ _imagination._ ”

“Tony,” Steve said, with his exasperated _Captain_ voice, but Bucky held up a hand.

“Naw, Stevie, let him finish, I wanna know if I win this one.” Also, he wanted to see Steve go redder.

“Actually,” Tony told him, “I think I’ve decided the winning mental image is her tossing you. It’s like both types of sexy at once.”

Bucky paused as Clint cracked up, then tilted his head. “I don’t see it,” he told Natalia, who shrugged at him.

“We’re not hot to each other,” she agreed dryly. “Maybe from the outside it works.”

“Oh, it super works,” Tony assured them.

“It works at turning you red, Stevie,” Bucky said, grinning as he watched Steve go maroon.

Steve sputtered. “I just – This is not what I came down here for,” he said, and _aw, Steve_. Bucky tossed an arm around his shoulders.

“C’mon. Bed,” he said, “and this time I won’t even sneak out to play with the dissolute ruffian we have for a landlord.”

“I am taking that as a compliment,” Tony said, smirking as Bucky led a still-blushing Steve into the elevator. Clint and Natalia followed, so when he hit the button for Steve’s floor he hit theirs too, letting the door close on Tony trying to wrangle DUM-E into behaving.

Bucky watched their reflection in the elevator door as Steve glared at him.

“Bucky,” he said.

“Nope,” Bucky replied. That was Steve’s Lecture Voice.

“You blew something up,” Steve protested, cut off at the knees but still coming for a fight, because he wouldn’t be Steve if he didn’t.

“I didn’t,” Bucky said, “I just poked it. A little. It was unexpected.” _Sorta._

“I woke up to an empty bed and an explosion!” Steve whined, and Bucky sighed and had a little mercy.

“Stevie,” he said, as gently as he could, “I left a note. I thought you’d be pleased Tony and I get on.”

“I am!” Steve sputtered, clutching his shield.

“Then you gotta give us some time to keep gettin’ on,” Bucky said patiently. “Which I couldn’t do the past three days, because I was too busy listening to you go on about baseball.”

“You didn’t even listen to me go on about baseball, you were texting Barton,” Steve grumbled, but the wind was out of his sails, and yes, Bucky still knew how to get Steve to stand down, soldier, thank you very much.

“Snapchatting. How have you been out and about for three years and not figured out Snapchat?” Bucky asked him. “It’s brilliant. Barton. Tomorrow morning, after breakfast, we’re making Steve a Snapchat.”

“Oh, marvelous,” Natalia said sarcastically.

“Hell yeah we are,” Clint said over her, perking up. “Steve. We are going to get you set up like a modern man with a plan, instead of an old man with a walker or some shit.”

“That. Doesn’t even make sense,” Steve said blankly, and Bucky grinned.

“Made sense to me,” he said as the elevator stopped. “Night, Clint, Natalia.” His voice was fonder on her name, and she smiled at him as they stepped out.

“Night,” Clint said, waving cheekily as the elevator closed.

Bucky headed down the hall with his star-spangled, pajama-clad hunk of idiot under one arm. Steve was yawning now, and sure enough, he had goosebumps.

“You didn’t even grab a shirt, Rogers,” Bucky grumbled, “You’re gonna catch cold.”

“I haven’t caught cold since 1943, Buck, and I got _frozen,_ ” Steve said sleepily as Bucky guided him into the apartment, tugging him into the bedroom and taking the shield to hang up next to the bed.

“You’ve got goosebumps,” was Bucky’s perfectly reasonable retort as he toppled 6-something feet of moron onto the mattress, tugging the blanket out from under Steve so he could tuck it round him instead.

“I’m fine,” Steve said, like he always said. Bucky tugged off his own shirt and tossed it somewhere, then clambered over Steve to shove himself under the blankets on his side of the bed.

“Yeah, yeah, heard that all before,” he replied, habit taking over, and Steve went still. Bucky sighed. It had been three days and he was already sick of that reaction, not that he could blame Steve. If he’d known Steve had gone down with that plane – if he’d been able to comprehend it – he’d have mourned hard, so he couldn’t judge Steve for the way he’d mourned Bucky. He did think maybe the coming-back should be a little happier, though, instead of all the silent-still reactions. Aw, hell. Stevie couldn’t help it.

Bucky tugged Steve back, curling round him and shoving at him until Steve was the little spoon. It gave Bucky a face full of neck and shoulder and blond hair that itched against his temple, but it was worth it for the way Steve immediately went boneless.

“Go to sleep, Stevie,” he said. “I’ll be here in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, but he clutched at Bucky’s metal arm, which was draped over his ribs and tucked up against Steve’s chest. “Yeah, okay, Buck. I’ll make breakfast.”

“You won’t,” Bucky retorted. “You’ll stay five feet away from the stove at all times. I’ll make breakfast.”

Steve’s chest huffed in a sleepy laugh. “Mhm,” he mumbled, already halfway asleep. “Gla’ y’re here, Buck.”

“Not plannin’ on leavin’, pal,” Bucky drawled quietly, but Steve was already asleep.

Bucky hummed, shoved his face against Steve’s shoulder, tuned out the itch of his hair with the ease of a sniper, and followed his example.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Кошечка: Russian for _kitten_ , commonly used as an endearment for children.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Potomac + 2 months and 15 days** _

Bruce tugged on his lab coat and adjusted the collar, then reached for gloves, scanning his lab with a vague satisfaction as he considered what he needed to start with. Gloves on, he walked the room, flicking on monitors as he passed. He paused before turning on the large, wall-mounted screen.

He’d sent a message to Barnes via JARVIS, the first day he’d known Barnes was there, and explained that he’d been given permission by the others to have a feed of the common areas. It helped keep him calm, knowing that if anything went to shit he’d be aware, instead of clueless down in the basement. Shifting to the Other Guy wasn’t as bad if he could see it coming. Shifting without warning felt like getting hit several times in the head, on top of the regular… regret.

Barnes had sent back that he was fine with it. Bruce wasn’t sure he meant it. He stared at the screen for a moment, then turned it on.

One of the first steps to accepting Barnes, he figured, was accepting that Barnes made his own choices.

He hummed as the familiar noises filled the lab. He had about a hundred dilutions to pipette, so he started on those while listening idly to the others having breakfast, their voices mixing and washing over him in a vague mass of noise, not really paying attention to anyone in particular.

900μL DI water in the first test tube of 50 rows. One, two, three…

_...I want a smiley face on my pancakes._ How old are you, Barton. Bruce smiled, still counting.

...forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven…

_...get your own, Stevie, I get hungry, too, dammit, you’re not the only one with a supertabolism_. Bruce glanced up to see Barnes stealing his pancakes back, and couldn’t help laughing quietly at the affront on Steve’s face.

Tony snuck up behind Barnes, poking him between the shoulder-blades, and Barnes pretended to be startled well enough that the others believed him.

Barnes pretended to be startled.

Bruce set down the pipette, taking a slow breath. He’d done that before. He _did_ that, regularly, he’d done it on the helicarrier the day he and Tony had met. Tony had shocked him with some kind of pen-thing. He hadn’t been startled. He was never startled, these days.

Hyper-vigilance kept him constantly tracking every person in a room, all the time. All the time. It was exhausting. But he was never startled. He knew how to fake it. How to make it look real. If you didn’t fake it, people got nervous, wondered why you were unflappable. Or, worse, they took it as a challenge to see what would actually startle you. Both of those things were bad, so Bruce pretended to be startled.

So did Barnes.

Bruce had a decent reason for hyper-vigilance. The Other Guy was a pretty good reason. Fear of himself, if he was honest enough to admit it, but Barnes wasn’t scared of himself, Bruce didn’t think, which meant he was scared of…

Of…

Everything? All the… time. A Breath. In. Out. _Shake your head, center yourself_.

How did he get scared of everything all the time. When he had a metal arm. What could possibly do that. Or maybe the metal arm was where it started–

Think of something else, Banner. In, out. Think of.

He needed tell Tony. That Barnes was scared. That Barnes –

–

 

**White. Clean. Smell bad.**

**Bad.**

**Smash.**

_no no no that’s weeks of work smash the fridge look at the fridge look at the fridge_

**Humming box. Smash.**

_door there’s a door go through the door smash the stuff in the warehouse just not the lab_

**Lab bad. Smell. Smash.**

_oh fuck that is going to be hell to clean up_

**Wet everywhere. Hulk not like wet. Smash cabinets.**

_does tony know does anyone know_

**Smash glass things.**

_NO!_

**No smash glass things?**

_no please no that’s coulson’s vial that’s coulson’s sample please no no no no_

“ **Little suit man.”**

_yeah yeah little suit man coulson he’s our friend_

“ **Little suit man glass thing?”**

_yeah please put it down please put it down you can smash the rest I can get more but not that one_

**Hulk put down little suit man glass thing. Hulk turn to door. Hulk allowed to smash through door.**

_oh thank god he’s gonna smash the warehouse_

**Hulk smash warehouse door. Hulk smash boxes. Boxes crunch. Good smash.**

_okay this is workable this is alright we’re okay we’re fine_

“Wow, he really did a number on this place.” **Voice in bad-place-lab. Little arrow man. Not a threat. Hulk keep smashing.**

“This normal?” **New voice. Threat? Hulk turn to lab. Grunt noise.**

_oh shit barton why would you bring barnes down here_

“This is actually pretty mild. Hey big guy, you in there?”

**Grunt noise. Little arrow man stick head in.**

“Oh wow, buddy, you’re going all out. All right if I watch? Brought a friend.”

_that’s barnes, barnes is a friend, barnes is fine, please don’t smash barnes_

“ **Not Hulk friend.” Shiny arm. Still puny. Soft hair.**

“No, no he’s new, but it’s fine, he’s just gonna sit with me, you can smash away.”

“You sure I shouldn’t go?”

_yes go away barnes go away_

**Loud. Too many voices. Hulk smash boxes.**

“Right, okay, we’re just gonna. Sit here and watch, big guy.”

**Hulk ignore little arrow man. Hulk smash boxes.**

**Hulk smash box**

**and box**

**and box.**

“He’s running out.” **Soft hair man. Grunt. Smash next box.**

**Soft hair man moving. Turn down metal racks. Hulk not care.**

**Hulk smash more boxes. Hulk not have boxes left. Hulk turn. Hulk find more.**

**Soft hair man has wooden thing above his head. Wooden thing has _many_ boxes. Soft hair man come to Hulk. **

“Turns out I don’t know how to set all this down without smashing it myself. So you might have to put it down for me.”

“ **Boxes for Hulk?”**

**Soft hair man tilt head. Hair move.** “Hulk smash, right?”

**Nod. “Hulk smash.” Take wooden thing. Put down. Smash boxes. Soft hair man watch Hulk smash. Only wooden thing left. No more boxes.**

“Here.” **Soft hair man lift wooden thing up like wall. Hulk take and throw. Hulk roar.**

“Huh.” **Soft hair man stare.** “That’s not what I… expected. But if it works.”

**Hulk want to touch soft hair. Hulk want to know what else works. “What else works.”**

**Soft hair man pick up another wooden thing like wall. Soft hair man take Hulk hand, use it to hold wall up.**

**Soft hair man pull back metal arm and smash through wooden wall. Metal arm open up. Big now. Not so puny. Good smash.**

**Hulk roar. Good smash. He smash with big fist. No hole. No wooden thing. Just wood bits.**

**Soft hair man laugh.**

“Exactly. You need a gym.”

**What gym. “What gym.”**

“It’s a place for, um. Smashing. Steve goes down sometimes to barrel out his issues on punching bags. JARVIS let me watch before they all knew I was here. Don’t tell Steve I know.”

“ **Star man smash?”**

“Yeah he does. He’s a mess.”

“ **Star man sad.”**

**Soft hair man sigh.** “Yeah. ‘m workin’ on it.”

**Hulk stare. Hulk want to touch soft hair. Hulk pick up wooden thing. “Soft hair man smash.”**

**Soft hair man blink.**

“ **Soft hair man smash. And then Hulk touch soft hair.”**

**Soft hair man smile. Soft hair man smash. And then Hulk touch soft hair.**

**It is very soft.**

**Very soft. Soft hair man is very small. Soft hair man is very scared.**

_yeah he is_

**Scared is not good.**

_is barnes our friend now?_

**Soft hair man is Hulk friend.**

**Soft hair man is nice.**

**Hulk protect soft hair man.**

_yeah_

_yeah we do_

_are you done smashing_

**Hulk done smashing.**

**Hulk tired.**

-

 

“….holy shit.” Barnes scrambled off his lap, bright red. “Um. You back?”

“Nngh.” Bruce felt like he’d been socked upside the head with a golf club. “Ow. Yeah. Other Guy hangover.”

“Sorry,” Barnes said, crouching to look him over.

“Not your fault,” Bruce waved him off. “It’ll go. I just need to. Ugh. My lab.”

“It’s a bit of a mess,” Barton agreed, grinning at them both. Dammit. Bruce knew he was bright red, which was only a marginally better option than bright green. “Take the day off, Doc. Let Tony spoil you for lunch, take a breather while he sends in the cavalry to clean this up.”

“Mmmgh.” Bruce stood with effort, ignoring the pounding behind his eyes. “I have to – save what samples I can. And then I’m going to nap. And then I’m going to ask Tony for sushi. So much sushi.”

“Can I, ah. Help?” Barnes looked confused, staring around at the wreck.

Bruce peered at him through the impending migraine. “Go upstairs and hug Steve,” he said, and then headed back for the lab. “By the way, the Other Guy has decided you’re a friend, so. If you ever need backup, just call.”

Barnes looked startled. The real kind of startled. “Oh. Thanks?”

Bruce waved a hand at him and went to save his samples. He needed sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Potomac + 2 months and 20 days** _

Steve wasn’t pouting.

He was drawing. The New York skyline had changed since he’d crashed the Valkyrie, and then had changed again after the Chitauri attack. He needed to relearn it. That’s all.

It was fine that Bucky and Clint were at the range. He was giving Bucky space; even Steve knew he’d been a little clingy. Nattie was out with Ms. Potts, and Bruce and Tony were in the lab directing the workmen fixing up the place, so Steve had some time to himself to draw. Which was good. Really.

The pencil snapped and Steve glared at it resentfully. Nobody made a decent pencil anymore.

He grumbled and grabbed another from the box next to him, tossing the broken one into the trash bin. There were only seven in there so far. Proof he wasn’t pouting, right there, because on bad days he’d fill the bin. Seven was nothing. Seven was fine. Seven was the fault of the pencil manufacturers.

Steve squinted, then added several buildings to his sketch with a frown. Skylines had been helpful, before; background buildings while a pretty lady walked across the foreground in whatever brand wanted to sell a hat or a frock or a shoe. Just something vague to indicate that the dame was cosmopolitan and well-to-do. 

Steve missed hats. He’d never been able to afford good ones, but they’d been fun to draw. There’d been so many types, too, and now it was all ball caps. Steve didn’t mind a ball cap, they were good to keep the sun off, but  now  if he tried to wear anything else he immediately came off as a fink. 

Glancing up, something flew in front of the buildings he was sketching. That one was new. There were so many new types of aircraft these days, not even counting Tony or the helicarriers.

“JARVIS,” he asked, “what’s that kite at my three o’clock?”

There was a pause. Steve didn’t really notice it at first, until it stretched out longer than it normally did. “JARVIS?”

“I’m unable to identify the flying craft in question, Captain,” JARVIS said, sounding uncomfortable. “I’m informing Sir of the situation now.”

“Gimme a visual,” Steve demanded, as another – thing – whizzed by the buildings. There was more than one of them, great. Just what he needed.

The television in Steve’s room turned on and a blurry zoom-shot from one of the Tower’s outside cameras played, half-blocked by a spider web in the corner of the camera. Armor glinted off the  man-shaped  craft, and Steve tossed his sketchbook onto the sofa. 

“Avengers alert,” he said shortly, and the alarms began to go off as Steve scrambled for his tac gear.

“ _Cap? You got intel on these, or are we going out blind?”_ Tony’s voice came over JARVIS’s speakers. 

“I don’t know what they are, but I know they’ve got armor and are flying over New York,” Steve said, wrestling with the straps on his body armor.

“ _Right. I’m headed out, Bruce is monitoring communications,”_ Tony replied. _“I’ll try to get a better view of these guys, see if they’re hostiles. Barnes, Barton has your shit.”_

“ _Copy,”_ came Bucky’s voice, and Steve almost dropped the shield. He’d be fighting with Bucky again. 

That was. That was something. He shoved his helmet on,  adjusting the communicator inside, then headed for the elevator.  It lurched and he  gripp ed the  side-rail as JARVIS dropped him  faster than usual  down to the garage. 

“ _Nat. Nat, come in, are you anywhere near these things? Oh, shit, is_ Pepper _anywhere near these things?”_ Tony asked over the comms, sounding panicked the moment he mentioned Pepper.

“ _Pepper is fine, Stark, I’m getting her out of here on a bike,”_ Nat replied calmly. “ _I’ll be back as soon as I’ve dropped her off outside the danger zone. Pretty sure these are the newest installation of Doombots, Barton.”_

“ _Aw, great,”_ Barton complained in his ear, but Steve mostly felt relieved as he stumbled into the garage toward his Harley. At least someone had an idea what was going on.

“ _You know these things?”_ Tony asked. 

“ _Unfortunately. SHIELD used to deal with them, but I guess he’s trying to take advantage of SHIELD being gone. Doom’s the guy who runs-”_

“ _Latveria,”_ Tony finished for Barton. “ _So not Chitauri?”_

“ _Not Chitauri. Human-made robots. Still pretty far outside the military’s normal specs, though, so we should probably go. Ugh. I hate Doombots.”_ Clint sounded exasperated, not scared, and Steve felt himself settle internally. Not Chitauri.

“I’ll meet you there,” he said, “Clint, Bucky, take the rooftops. Clint’s got a flying bike thing. Nattie, you on your way back?”

“ _Nattie?”_ Aw, shit. She didn’t sound upset, though, just amused. 

“Sorry. Natasha,” he said, revving out of the garage.

“ _It’s cute. Never do it again. I’m on my way back now. Pep’s with Happy, Tony, she’s fine and leaving New York to get boardwalk fudge in Jersey.”_

“ _Jersey?”_ Bucky sounded horrified, and Steve barked a laugh. Clint made a strangled noise over the comms and Steve heard a click, cutting off something Clint was saying. Probably explaining that the fudge part was worth the Jersey part.

Steering the Harley through New York was second nature now, and the shield on his back plus the way his tac gear was still colored like his dancing monkey suit meant most people recognized him enough to get out of the way,  especially because everybody was running the opposite direction, frazzled police trying to direct civilians. At least New York had a protocol for this, now, which made it much less chaotic than the Chitauri. 

By the time he got to the area the robots were flying around, most of the civilians were evacuated, though the roads had distinct scorch marks, and everything had the look of chaotic abandonment. The bots didn’t seem to be spreading over the city, instead sticking to a residential area of a couple of blocks, which made things a little easier for Steve. “Right, Romanoff. Take the ground with me, Barton and Barnes as rooftop cover, Stark in the air. Wilson, are you on comms?” 

“ _Yeah, gimme a minute,_ ” Sam grunted in his ear. 

“You’re with me and Romanoff on the ground,” Steve said.

“ _Like hell I am. Look for me in the sky,”_ Sam said, and Steve blinked. 

“What?” he asked, but Sam didn’t answer. Tony hadn’t fixed Sam’s wings already. Had he? Gee whiz, that’d be fine.

“ _I can’t be rooftop and ground at the same time_ ,” Bucky said. Steve frowned.

“ _He said me on the ground, Barnes_ ,” Nat said before Steve could. “ _Your comm must be cutting out, turn it off and on again._ ” He could hear her smile in her voice. Probably pleased Bucky was joining them, too. He still didn’t know that whole story, but Bucky had looked so pleased to see her that Steve couldn’t be upset. He knew Bucky missed his sisters. 

There was a short sound from Bucky, and two clicks. Steve ducked the Harley round a building when one of the flying things approached.  He clambered off it, letting the bike drop, mentally apologizing for the scratches. 

“ _My comms don’t cut out_ ,” Tony protested, as Steve took a deep breath and began to run, launching himself up the trunk of a parked car, onto the roof of it, and into the air to tackle one of the flying things out of the air and into the pavement.

“Romanoff,” he growled, “I need information on these things, and now.”

There was an aborted noise as Nattie replied. “ _Hit their necks, they’re normally vulnerable in the necks. They’re not generally very smart, just pretty destructive, they like to laser-beam things.”_

“Swell,” Steve grunted. He hated lasers. What happened to good old-fashioned ricochet-able bullets? Bulletproof vests were a thing, but laser-proof vests were not a thing. Maybe Tony could make laser-proof vests a thing.

Steve blamed Hydra, swearing as he clambered off the bot beneath him and slammed his shield into the neck, cracking it through and into the pavement, then straightening to see two more headed for him.

“All hail Dr. Doom, ruler of Latveria, who will soon-” one intoned. Steve already hated them.

“Who makes robots that monologue?” he complained, swinging himself off a streetlamp to hit it with both feet in the back, then using the momentum to cling to it. It careened wildly through the air, and Steve jumped off just as it wobbled into a building. He landed on a dumpster, then rolled off onto the pavement just in time to dodge a blast of light that left a smoking, plasticky-scented crater in the dumpster lid. “Even Stark doesn’t make robots that monologue.”

“ _I have taste,”_ Tony agreed.

Nattie sounded breathless when she came back on the comms. “ _Stark, if you can find Doom, he’s normally close by, looks like a bigger one of the bots. Shitty face mask. If we can find the off-switch_ _for the bots_ _on him, we’re golden.”_

“ _Can’t I just repulsor-blast him?”_ Tony asked.

“ _He’s got diplomatic immunity as ruler of Latveria. so I wouldn’t suggest it, unless you want to give your lawyers heart attacks.”_

“ _Fuck,”_ Tony grumbled, and Steve saw a familiar flash of red-and-gold streaking out of sight past the buildings above him, taking out the bot that had shot the dumpster. Good, gave him a moment to blink the smoke out of his eyes. Ugh, it smelled like burnt plastic.

A familiar whoop in the comms left him grinning as he braced himself and shoved off the ground. Sam whooped again, whirling mid-air to tackle a robot that was chasing Tony. His body language was thrilled and happy even as he elbowed the neck of the robot and it dropped, Sam swooping upward as it hit the pavement.

Steve wanted to draw him; the joy was contagious. He found himself centering automatically, gripping the shield and throwing himself back into the fray. The next robot coming at him fell out of the sky with an arrow in its neck, though, and he heard a familiar snicker in the comms.

“ _Gotcha, ya shit,”_ Clint said, laughter in his voice. “ _Buck’s up here too, Cap, he’s taking the north side, I’ve got the south.”_

“Tony, can you and Sam split the arial? Romanoff, take this side, I’ll get the north. Smack ‘em out of the sky, we’ll pick ‘em off on the ground. Keep an eye out for Doom,” Steve ordered, leaping over a parked car and throwing the shield to bounce off of two bots and knock them to the ground. Two bullets followed, as he’d known they would, and he caught the shield as the robots sparked and twitched on the ground, Bucky’s shots through their necks exposing ruined wiring.

“ _Copy,”_ Tony said. “ _Batter up. I always hated baseball.”_

“You shut your goddamn mouth,” Steve snapped, and Clint cackled.

“ _Didn’t the news people tell you_ _to watch_ _your_ _language_ _last month_ _?”_ he asked, and Steve _felt_ Bucky’s attention zoom in on him. He tried to ignore his own blush, focusing instead on dodging a laser by hiding behind the shield, then rolling behind a car and throwing the shield at the bot who’d fired.

“ _Stevie has to_ what?” Bucky sounded flabbergasted.

“ _Apparently bad language isn’t gol-darn respectable,”_ Tony said gleefully, and Bucky made a strangled noise. Three bots dropped from neck-shots before Bucky composed himself enough to speak.

“ _I am going to have to adjust to that,”_ he said, “ _considering Stevie’s the one who taught me how to swear a blue streak worse than the men on the docks.”_

Oh, great. That was Sam cackling at him. Fucking hell.

“I’m Captain America, they made a TV show, Buck,” he protested. “For kids.” Something whacked him in the head, and he spun, using the shield’s momentum on his arm to whack the thing back, then jumping on it and using the edge of the shield to crunch through the external armor of the bot. He used a hand to rip out the wiring, ignoring the fizz of the electricity through his gloves.

“ _The same kids who are probably watching you_ _disembowel_ _robots?”_ Bucky asked. “ _They can handle it, Steve.”_ There weren’t many bots left, now, most of them picked off by repulsor fire and the snipers on the building above, or just knocked into the pavement by a still-whooping Sam. Steve looked around, then put the shield on his back and leapt up a broken fire escape, wanting a better view.

“ _I dunno, coming up with alternates was kinda fun,”_ Clint said, “ _I had some good ones. Sweet baby cheeses!”_

“ _That’s. Terrible_ ,” Nattie grunted, but there wasn’t a snarky response. Steve ducked a laser, climbing faster, reaching the roof just in time to see a pink blur jump off it.

Steve followed it, confused, skidding to the edge of the roof and realizing the pink blur was _Bucky_ , who was currently tackling a larger robot that had a limp Clint Barton over its shoulder. The robot swerved in mid-air, and Steve immediately began barking out orders.

“Sam, Tony, I need you here, now, Barton’s out. Bucky’s gonna need someone to catch ‘em. Sam, see if you can hit that thing –“

“ _DO NOT HIT THE THING. I WILL_ _SHOOT_ _THE THING,”_ Nat shouted over the comms. “ _That’s not a bot, that’s Doom, if Sam shoots him you’re all in even more trouble.”_

Tony swooped into view, ready to catch his teammates, and Steve felt his stomach curdle as Bucky whacked on Doom’s head with his metal arm. Apparently the suit Doom wore was made of something durable, because it dented but didn’t crack. Doom’s head turned to survey Bucky. The mask was intimidating, Steve had to admit, but not intimidating enough that Steve wasn’t about to fling the shield at it, lawyers be damned.

“The Winter Soldier.” Doom’s mechanical voice was loud enough Steve could hear it outside the tinny feedback from Bucky’s comm. “You fight for the Avengers?”

“Not the Winter Soldier, pal, and I fight for my friends.” Bucky hit the helmet again, leaving another dent.

Doom seemed to hesitate. Then, to Steve’s shock and Bucky’s visible disbelief, Doom approached Steve’s rooftop, Bucky still clinging to his back, Clint still over his shoulder. He touched down to the roof, and Bucky frowned but clambered off him, squaring up with Steve to flank Doom.

“You fight of your own volition,” Doom intoned. “I have read the files of your captivity. You should not be battling so soon.”

“You attacked the city I am goddamn living in,” Bucky snarled back.

“This was Doom’s error,” said the robotic tone, and Steve visibly blinked as Doom shifted Clint, setting him on the ground almost gently. “Doom bears no ill will toward James Barnes. He will be given time to recover. Doom must rule, but Doom is patient.” He stepped away, then rose off the roof and flew off.

There was bewildered silence on the comms, and then Clint groaned. Steve took up a defensive position, facing the direction Doom had left in, as Bucky scrambled forward, tossing his shiny pink gun aside and tugging at Clint’s tac vest to get the collar open, checking for a pulse. “Clint? Barton, c’mon, pal, be a champ, not a chump,” he muttered under his breath.

“’m not a chump,” Clint mumbled, dazed, “’m a champ.” Steve’s shoulders fell in relief. He hadn’t even realized they were tense.

“Yeah? Eyes open, let me see those baby blues and I’ll call it. You got fucking tased, what else did he do,” Bucky said. Steve glanced over his shoulder to see Bucky frantically undoing tac gear, trying to get Clint free so he could see where he was hurt, his hair blocking his expression so Steve couldn’t read it.

“Buck – Bucky, ‘m fine,” Clint said, opening his eyes, and freezing at whatever he saw on Bucky’s face before lunging up. Bucky made a wordless sound of alarm when Clint moved, but it got cut off and –

Oh.

Steve’s gut turned like he’d just taken the Cyclone at Coney Island. He looked away, tracing the skies for Doom rather than watch the others on the roof. That didn’t stop him from hearing the gasp.

“Sorry – shit, sorry, I –” Clint stuttered, and then Bucky made a low humming sound and Clint was the one to get cut off this time.

The shield was heavy, and all of Steve was sore, and Doom wasn’t coming back. Steve cleared his throat, but was beaten to the punch by Tony.

“ _Ha! Romanoff, you owe me twenty bucks,”_ he crowed, and Nat groaned. Steve turned in time to see Bucky pull back, grinning.

“You’re really okay?” he asked Barton, who laughed.

“After that? Hell yeah. Blaming the shakes on your lips, Buck, the taser didn’t do half of what you just did with your tongue.” What thing with his tongue? Since when did Bucky do things with his tongue? Had he done those things before, with all the dames he took dancing? Steve hadn’t even gotten to do tongue-things with _Peggy_ , and here they were doing tongues on a first go.

“ _Aw, fuck you two, man, I did not need to hear that,”_ Sam complained, and Bucky snorted a laugh, grinning as he stood and offered Barton a hand. Sam landed on the rooftop, wings folding gracefully as he looked them over, Clint only wavering a little once standing.

“What the _hell_ are you wearing?” he asked Bucky, who glanced down at his pink outfit with a smirk. Steve had to snort back his own smile. It was so _very_ pink, and covered in kitten faces.

Iron Man landed on the other side of the rooftop, setting Nattie down and then stalking over as Tony opened his faceplate. “It was supposed to be a training outfit,” he said, eyes sweeping over Bucky approvingly, flicking over to Clint as though it were casual, but Steve knew Tony well enough to know that he had been upset to hear Clint was down. Clint would end up with tac gear that resisted tasers by the next op, Steve would put money on it. “I figured something really different would be less likely to spark bad memories and shit.”

“And I look good,” Bucky said, and Sam snorted, crossing his arms as he looked down and shook his head.

“You’re somethin’ else, man,” he said when he looked up again, but he sounded impressed, and Steve found himself blushing. He wasn’t even the one being complimented, what the hell.

“Natasha,” Steve said, facing her rather than facing whatever the hell that was. She squared her shoulders, her jaw setting in a determined look that, aw, shit. She’d gotten that from Bucky, he saw it now, they did the same thing when they were gearing up for a fight. “Thank you,” Steve said, and she blinked. Hey, Steve could be reasonable, even when he was upset, fuck that Captain America biographer who’d made him out to be a pill. “The intel was helpful,” he added, because the neck-bashing thing had worked swell. “But next time, don’t go volunteering to be the fall guy. You’re part of the team, we’d be just as pissed off if the lawyers came after you for shooting Doom.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, turning to her, and she glanced over, looking almost surprised. Well, surprised for Nattie, which meant her lips had parted by maybe a quarter-inch. “I’m the fall guy, I’ve already got like six sex tapes out on the loose, what’re they gonna do to my reputation that I haven’t already done to it? And between Rhodey and Pep, my legal backup is to die for, honestly, next time let me shoot the guy with diplomatic immunity, seriously, what the hell? You’re gonna leave Barnes after you made him weep tears of joy the other day? Get your priorities straight, _chi_ _c_ _a_.”

By the end of the rant, Nattie had her lips closed again, pursed like she was unsure if she wanted to hug Tony or smack him. But Bucky shifted at his name, and her eyes flicked over as something defensive left her posture.

“Well,” she drawled, “since you volunteered so nicely.” She patted Tony’s metal arm with a condescending glance at him, then walked over to cup Clint’s face and scan his eyes. “Let me see your pupils, Дротик.”

“Aw, Nat, no, I’m fine,” Clint complained, “He didn’t hit my head, I was just stunned.” Still he held still, letting her check him over.

Steve’s stomach gurgled, his metabolism reminding him that he’d just done some extra cardio without six protein bars eaten beforehand. “Do you think anyone will have kept a food cart  open around here?” he asked Bucky, who was picking up his pink gun and Clint’s ruined tac vest. 

“Are you serious?” Bucky asked him, but Tony was already perking up, ignoring the sounds of incoming police cars and news helicopters with the ease of a professional chaos creator.

“Hey, yeah, after-battle shawarma!” he crowed. “Tradition!”

Sam stared at them all. “This team is fucking nuts,” he muttered, and then glanced over his shoulder as someone huffed, gasping in air. Steve followed his glance to see Bruce,  panting as he finished the last few steps  of the fire escape . 

“I want shawarma,” he gasped, then held up a finger, took a moment longer to catch his breath, then added, “and I want to take a look at Clint, I heard on the comms, came straight here –” he broke off to breathe again but held up the bag in his other hand, which Steve guessed was a medical kit. 

“Aw, Doc,” was Clint’s response, and Tony grinned.

“Sweet. I’ll go talk to the powers that be about cleanup, donate a few hundred thousand, you know how it goes, Birdbrain can make sure his eggs didn’t get scrambled, and we’ll get food!”

Steve watched as Iron Man left the roof and sighed. “I should go with him,” he said reluctantly. “Buck? You got things here?” He glanced over, but Bucky waved him off with a smirk. 

“Dance, monkey, dance,” he said, and Steve flipped him off as he headed down the fire escape a flight of stairs at a time, hearing Clint’s laughing call of _language_ fading behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After writing this, I did a quick google to see if anyone else had come up with the Pink Soldier. Answer: [Yes.](https://leeeeeeeeeegooooooooolaaaaaaaaas.tumblr.com/search/marvel) Also, [there's a whole team!](https://laughingsquid.com/marvel-superheroes-with-pink-hello-kitty-makeovers/)


	11. Chapter 11

Clint spent the entirety of dinner in a happy, bewildered daze. He was going to spend the next eight hours, at least, ignoring how complicated human relationships were, and focusing on the fact that he’d gotten a _kiss from Bucky Barnes._

Holy _shit_.

Nat was giving him sideways glances, and Clint _could_ feel weird about it, but. Nah. Bucky Barnes had been on his list of people-he-wanted-to-kiss since Clint stole his first comic book at twelve years old from Jacobs the Sword Swallower in the Carnival. A badass boy his age? Kicking ass with Captain America? Hell yeah.

What was the point of stealing a porno mag when Bucky was wearing those shorts.

And then he’d grown up and found out Bucky Barnes was _real_ , and how many sniping records he’d set in the 1940’s, and seen a _photo._ And whoo. Boy. Clint spent too much time wondering if he wanted to _fuck_ Bucky Barnes, _be fucked_ by Bucky Barnes, or _be_ Bucky Barnes.

Obviously, Bucky coming back had limited his options to the first two, and Clint was starting to think he wasn’t the type of man to use the word “ _or”_. He much preferred “ _and”._ “ _And”_ was good. Especially now that he’d _met_ Bucky Barnes. And fucking _kissed him holy shitting banana balls._

All of which was to say he wasn’t paying much attention to dinner, because _that_ was going through his head.

Bucky, on the other hand, wasn’t any different. Not in the awkward, “we’re ignoring what just happened” way, but in the way that Clint thought other people must mean when they said “old married couple”. Bucky was just _normal_ , settled, smiling at Clint, eating and splitting a fourth pita wrap with Steve. It wasn’t weird, it was _comfortable_ , like Clint and Bucky kissing wasn’t momentous, just – everyday stuff .

Clint wanted it to be everyday stuff.

Oh, fuck, Clint was so far gone.

He’d expected today to be a clusterfuck when the alarm went off, so this was a happy surprise. It hadn’t started great. Bucky had tackled him to the ground when the alarm started, and Clint had been too winded to explain right away, giving them both a few moments of panic, but when the comms had opened over JARVIS’s speakers, Bucky had caught on fast.

Clint hadn’t been sure about taking Bucky along, but had needed to go get his own shit, and when Bucky followed Clint didn’t see any point in stopping him. Then Tony had mentioned gear, so Clint had assumed it was fine, handing over an extra set of charged comms from the dock to Bucky and letting him fit them into his ears as Clint led the way to the lockers.

He’d opened the locker labelled “Barnes” just as Nat was on the comms.

“... _Pep’s with Happy, Tony, she’s fine and leaving New York to get boardwalk fudge in Jersey.”_

“Jersey?” Bucky had said, but it was strangled as he saw the bright pink body armor, and then Bucky had reached to cut off both their comms – unerringly finding the little switch Clint had flicked on his hearing aid – so he could grab the armor without Tony hearing him. “What the hell?”

“Stark’s idea of a joke?” Clint had said vaguely, unsure what to think, or if Bucky was upset, but then Bucky was snorting laughter as he strapped it on. “You don’t have to come if –”

“He does realize boys wore pink before Hitler fucked it up, right?” Bucky’d said, grinning, and Clint barked a laugh as he tugged on his own tac gear. “Course I’m fucking coming, I look good.”

Clint wasn’t paying that much attention, strapping on his wrist guard and checking his arrows quickly before leading the way to the garage, listening to the nonsense on JARVIS’s speakers rather than the comms. It was easier for him anyway; layers of sound still had issues with the comm-hearing aid hybrids Tony had made. He’d turn them on later.

“ _You’re with me and Romanoff on the ground,”_ Steve had said, and Bucky glanced up, confused as he flicked his comm on, the universal facial expression for “what did he say?” on his face.

“I can’t be rooftop and ground at the same time,” Bucky had said, and Clint had blinked at him, but then Nat was responding.

“ _He said me on the ground, Barnes. Your comm must be cutting out, turn it off and on again.”_

Bucky had turned off his comm and stared at Clint as Clint impatiently scanned his eye and thumb and other thumb on the security pad for the hoverbike. “She uses the name Romanoff?” he’d asked, voice twisting oddly, and Clint had glanced up to see his expression: shock and disbelief warring with pleasure.

“Oh, man, let me guess,” he’d grinned, “you went by that once.”

Bucky had nodded, eyes wide, but then both had flicked their comms back on as they’d scrambled into the now-open garage and onto the hoverbike, Bucky getting on behind Clint, just in time to hear Steve ask “Romanoff” for information. Bucky had opened his mouth in an aborted word, then closed it again, and Clint had decided not to ask as they flew over New York. He’d flicked his comm on, focusing.

“J, you there?” he’d asked.

“Of course, Mr. Barton.”

“You’ve got my privacy protocols on?”

“Of course, Mr. Barton.” Clint had it set so JARVIS auto-filtered what he said and decided what went to the others; otherwise the rest of the team would just hear him muttering swear words the whole time. The others had similar protocols; Tony, for example, was always blabbering on to JARVIS at Mach 7 to get info on whatever they were fighting, and Clint didn’t need to hear the technospeak.

“Give B here the same ones for now? Buck, that means he’ll filter you, mutter away and unless it’s important, nobody else gets it.”

“Thanks,” Bucky had said, and Clint had felt him shift behind him on the seat. “Handy. Oh my god, look at fuckin’ Steve. Steve, you are not literal trash – move it!” He’d growled the last two words as Steve rolled off a dumpster, out of the way of a laser.

The others were still talking. Clint had been able to see Tony and – oh, hey, Sam, lookin’ good – ahead of them, Tony repulsion-beaming the bot attacking Steve and then ramming into the remnants, Sam gleefully tackling another out of the air. The bots hadn’t fanned out much – weird. Only about thirty total.

A scouting party? Who the fuck scouted New York?

Doom, probably. And with SHIELD down, maybe it hadn’t been such a bad strategy; test the waters, so to speak.

Clint hated Doombots. It just figured that he’d be stuck as part of the group still obliged to fight them after SHIELD went to shit.

“Steve, what the fuck,” Bucky had muttered from behind him, grumbling as Steve bashed two robots from behind, ignoring the one coming straight at him. Clint had smirked, and maybe shown off a little, standing and drawing his bow in one motion, steering with his knee-and-cast braced on the handlebars as he took the shot. He’d been snickering as Steve glanced up, trying to spot them, but Clint was already touching down on a rooftop, his now-free hand hitting the brakes.

“Gotcha, ya shit. Buck’s up here too, Cap, he’s taking the north side, I’ve got the south,” he’d said, nodding to Bucky, figuring Bucky’d want to have Steve’s back. Bucky had nodded back, already heading for the edge of the roof, and Clint had gone to go cover Nat, which – oof, now he had some pressure there, because he had the feeling Bucky’d be pissed if he missed a shot on Nat Duty. Cap had still been giving the others directions.

“ _Copy. Batter up. I always hated baseball,”_ Tony had snarked. 

“ _You shut your goddamn mouth.”_ Ooh, angry Steve.

“Didn’t the news people tell you to watch your language last month?” he’d asked.

“ _Stevie_ _has to_ what?” Bucky had sounded like the face he’d made at the pink armor, and Clint snickered as he took down three bots with three well-placed arrows.

“ _Apparently bad language isn’t gol-darn respectable,”_ Tony had said gleefully, and Bucky made a strangled noise.

“ _I am going to have to adjust to that,”_ he’d said, “ _considering Stevie’s the one who taught me how to swear a blue streak worse than the men on the docks.”_ His voice had cut out on the comms, JARVIS filtering the next bit, but Buck was on the same roof. So Clint had heard, “How the hell does everyone take Steve for a god-damn innocent? He fights like a raging bull on steroids got tased and handed a fucking manhole cover.”

Sam’s cackling had covered Clint’s on the comms, but Bucky’d heard them both if his amused grunt said anything. Clint was sticking to the bots targeting Nat and below building height, because Sam and Tony were doing a pretty good job of the ones above. 

“ _I’m Captain America, they made a_ _TV_ _show, Buck,_ _f_ _or kids,”_ Steve had tried to defend himself.

“ _The same kids who are probably watching you_ _disembowel_ _robots?”_ Bucky had snarked. “ _They can handle it, Steve.”_

Clint had hummed, a goop arrow taking out two bots at once when one rammed into the other, sticking the two together and barreling them into the ground.

“I dunno, coming up with alternates was kinda fun, I had some good ones,” he’d said, and then yelped when a large metal man flew into view. “Sweet baby cheeses!”

That’s when everything went very fuzzy and sparky and painful and dark for a bit. When he’d had the brains to think anything other than _ow_ , it was to feel something cool pressing his throat as someone above him told him to be a champ, not a chump, and Clint had bristled. 

“’m not a chump,” Clint had managed to insist, because the darkness hadn’t turned blue and he hadn’t killed anyone, so he was definitely still awesome. “’m a champ.”

“Yeah? Eyes open, let me see those baby blues and I’ll call it. You got fucking tased, what else did he do,” and oh, that was Bucky’s voice, okay. Bucky’s hands had been shaking, tugging off Clint’s gear, but Clint had come to enough to realize that the only pain he felt was the residue of the taser.

“Buck – Bucky, ‘m fine,” he’d said, opening his eyes, and Bucky had looked – he’d looked _scared_ , and Clint had. Well. He blamed the taser for the instinct to kiss. He’d wanted to soothe him, to wipe the fear off his face, and it had just. Seemed like the best option. Bucky’s lower lip couldn’t tremble like that if Clint was sucking on it.

And then he’d realized what he was doing.

The gasp was half pain-from-the-taser and half panic as Clint pulled back, immediately stammering apologies, but he’d totally managed to do what he wanted, because now Bucky hadn’t looked afraid at all, he’d looked _predatory_ , and oh, that was a _good_ look on him, and –

Clint forced himself to snap out of the memory at the restaurant table, or this was gonna get goddamn embarrassing. Nat was giving him The Look again. Dammit.

“Here’s to the Pink Soldier,” Tony grinned, holding up a pita, and Bucky snorted, but the others were already raising their pitas. Clint raised his soda. Steve smirked.

“I gotta say, Buck, I do think it’s better than the previous moniker.”

Bucky and Nat had the same Look, and Buck was cutting it at Steve now. “I like it,” he said, and Tony blinked halfway through his giant bite of food.

“Wharm?”

“I like it. I wanna keep it,” Bucky shrugged. “It’s nothing like Hydra. The opposite. Who’s gonna be afraid of a fuckin’ pink-cat guy? Maybe I’ll be able to help people _without_ them running away screaming. I’m good for it. Put it on the official shit.”

Tony swallowed with visible effort. “You’re serious,” he said, and Bucky smirked slowly. Clint shivered. Oh, now he was scared _and_ horny, wow.

“Serious as the dead, Stark. Put me in glitter and bows.”

“You,” Tony said, pointing at Bucky, frowning, and then huffed sitting back. “Goddamn it. You should be no fun, but I just fuckin’ like you. Honestly, I’m going to make you so much sparkly shit now, you’ve got no idea, but you’re not even going to regret it, are you? You’re just gonna fight aliens in holographic pink.” Bucky winked at him, and Tony flushed. “Goddamn it,” Tony complained again, “you’re either too much fun or ruining my fun, my brain hasn’t decided yet.”

Steve was snickering, and Clint could see Banner hiding a smile behind his food. Bucky just grinned.

“Just keep my stealth stuff black,” he said, and then took a giant bite of shawarma.

“Pepper’s gonna kill me. We’re gonna have to buy out Hello Kitty,” Tony realized, eyes taking over a horrified glaze, and Clint snorted his drink out his nose.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Potomac + 2 months and 21 days_ **

 

 **Group name:** Assvengers

 **Group members:** Tinman, Icicle, Robin Hood, Lucille Ball, Doctor Green, Millennial Falcon, Extraordinary Gentleman, Kettle, Handsome

Handsome: _Sorry but yesterday kicked up some bad dreams and shitty memories. I’m gonna stay on my floor tonight, requesting no visitors. U’s got me covered._

Tinman: _Okiedokie, text or ask J if you need anything, we’ve got your back._

\- Doctor Green has liked Tinman’s text.

Robin Hood: _Feel better, take your time. Sending a cheese danish up with DUM-E._

Icicle: _I’m here if you need me, Buck._

Lucille Ball: _< 3_

\- Kettle has liked Lucille Ball’s text.

\- Millennial Falcon has liked Icicle’s text.

 

 **Text Conversation** **M** **embers:** Robin Hood, Handsome, Millennial Falcon

Handsome: _Would you do me a favor and distract Steve with something fast-paced and dumb_

Handsome: _Otherwise he’ll worry all day and drive himself nutty_

Robin Hood: _You got it, Handsome._ _Paintball in the gym coming right up._

Millennial Falcon: _Who’s Extraordinary Gentleman in the group chat? He’s the only one I can’t figure out._

Extraordinary Gentleman: _That would be myself, Mr._ _Wilson_ _._

Robin Hood: _Oh, that’s clever, actually. See you whenever you’re up to it, Buck,_ _Sam and I have got this_ _._

 

* * *

 

 

Hey James Bucky Winter Soldier Buchanan Barnes,

I’m Sam Wilson, which is a much more reasonable name. You tore off my wings. You owe me so fucking much for that, by the way. And my car. My fucking steering wheel, man.

Tony said to write you a letter to introduce ourselves: I’m not quite sure how to do that, but I’m gonna try, cause. Well. Steve thinks you’re trying, man, and if half of what’s in those Shydra files are true, you deserve a little bit of trying from me.

Doesn’t make talking about myself any easier, it’s like trying to write a goddamn Tinder profile. Don’t look up Tinder. It’s not worth it. Oh my god.

Anyway. If you want to recognize me on sight, I am the only reasonable, handsome-as-fuck black guy on the team. Rhodey’s cool, and he’s close to my level of handsome, but he’s spent his lifetime hanging with Tony Stark, so he’s obviously lost his reasonable meter. I was Air Force; out, now, working at the VA as a therapist. It’s good work, if a little depressing. Maybe those skills are what help me deal with your boy Rogers, cause, man, that guy has a savior complex the size of Texas. You’re the latest on the ‘to be saved list,’ good luck with that.

Can’t blame him, though. It’s what best friends do.

I lost mine. My wingman, Riley. Afghanistan. It’s been tough, since. Steve’s not Riley, but he’s good, got me out more, talking to these crazy folks. Nat’s nice, even if she’s terrifying. It’s not quite home – Riley was home. Probably always will be a little bit. But it’s maybe becoming home, you know?

I’m telling you this because I think maybe it could be home for you, too. And because Riley wasn’t super-serumed, so he’s never coming back. Which is a bitch to deal with. But you did come back, if you’re reading this, and I guess I think you should know that Steve won’t care if you’re still patching yourself together. I wouldn’t care, if it was Riley.

Besides, Steve is fucking bonkers, so he’s got no room to talk. Did anyone ever mention that Captain America was weird in the comics? Nosir, they did not, and I am here to tell the world that Captain America is a bizarre human being. How you dealt with him I do _not_ know, Barnes, cause whoo, boy, I make friends with the man for less than a month and next thing you know I’m suddenly fighting Hydra and then living in Avengers Fucking Tower with 16 lawyers representing my ass.

I don’t know if you remember, but following Steve? It’s like a weird-ass compulsion. The man wants you to be better, and suddenly you want to be better, and he says come with me, and you go, and then you end up with people ripping out your steering wheel, which is just. Still not cool, dude.

My mama’s phone call was worse, though. You don’t know real fear until Mama Wilson full-names you over the phone. Mama wasn’t a spanker, growing up, ‘never hit a child’ was her thing, but you bet I’m wearing Kevlar over my ass this Thanksgiving.

Ooh, I got it. You get your head together, Barnes, and I’ll take you to Wilson Thanksgiving. That’ll make up for the wings, hot damn.

But in all seriousness, you recover in your own time, I’m totally joking, bringing reluctant PTSD into loud chaotic delicious environments isn’t smart. And I get it, you know. May not have your brand of PTSD, but I’ve got it.

Wow, this is rambly as fuck. You’d never know I wrote a whole thesis to get my psychology degree, would you? Meh, it’s not even impressive here, we’ve got like three guys with 5+ PhDs or some crazy shit like that. Too bad they’re all completely nuts.

Anyway, welcome to the tower, Barnes. If you ever need anything, an ear to listen, whatever, you just call me up, you got that? I may be silly on paper – it’s a defense mechanism, don’t judge – but I know how to pay attention when it matters.

Good luck, and welcome.

Sam Wilson

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Samuel Thomas Sam Falcon Wilson,

Your name is not less ridiculous than mine, you just let half of it off.

I’m having a bad day. If this paper is wet, it’s cause I’m writing it in the bath. Baths are new. Hydra never let me get in a good soak. Turns out it helps the back and shoulder relax, so I’m classifying them as ~~optimal~~ good. I have Clint’s cheese danish, too, which is tasty but has left crumbs in my water.

I looked up ways to deal with trauma, when I was gone. Tried a lot of them. Some worked, some didn’t. Baths work fine. Comfort food sometimes, when I’m not nauseous. Changing my clothes to clean ones. Walks.

One site (psychcentral.com) said journalling was helpful. I figure a letter should work all right. And you’ve got the psychology degree and the VA experience, so you’re a professional. I’m trying to trust vetted professionals. Steve’s a good reference, and he trusts you. Vetted. The arm is only whirring once every three sentences on average so far, so I think this should work out.

Sorry if the writing is a bit choppy. My brain likes short sentences on bad days. It’s why I used optimal instead of good. It is like writing code in my head, I guess. Code for me.

Sometimes I wonder if I am the code. Or the writer. Maybe I am both?

Yesterday was good. The pink helped. Tony is clever, even if he’s a little nuts. Does he really have that many PhD’s? I’ve got an art degree. Wonder if I still have it. Do degrees expire? Stevie and I were gonna go into advertising together. Make ourselves a little design office. I’m real good with lettering, and he’s tops with sketches. We both can do the other way round but it’s not as good.

Didn’t quite work out that way, though. I haven’t tried lettering with the metal arm yet. I used to always do it left-handed. Right hand did most things, except the writing. Don’t know why. The metal hand does pretty good at everything I’ve tried so far, but I think I’d be real upset if I tried lettering and it didn’t work.

I’m off track.

Yesterday was good, was what I was saying. I enjoyed it, actually. Robots are fun to fight. No worries about lethality or good vs. bad, cause nobody’s dying.

Clint getting taken, though, that was ~~the most terrified I’ve been~~ ~~suboptimal~~ ~~not allowed~~ bad. Real bad.

Clint’s easy. Not in a simple way, but in the real hard way. I’d guess he’s been through a lot, because it’s not ever normal to be easy for a guy as messed up in the head as me, but there he was, day two in the Tower. Easy as pie, and good with a coffee maker, and always grinning at me like he didn’t mind the whole Hydra shit.

I haven’t looked up his file, since I started remembering things. Don’t tell me, neither. If I read it once before, I’ll remember. If not, he can tell me himself.

Clint’s nice. Kind. Good, I guess. Stevie is too, but Stevie’s always looking at me like he’s trying to see through me and find the guy he expects hiding inside. Clint never knew the old me, so I guess it’s easier for him.

He kissed me yesterday. I kissed him back.

I know you said you didn’t need to hear it, so, sorry in advance, cause I’ve gotta process the kissing, and apparently that’s what this writing thing is supposed to be good for, so you’re gonna get it anyway.

I liked the kiss. It was good. Both of them were. But it’s ~~something to lose~~ ~~someone to hurt~~ dangerous.

I’m not all right, in my head, not all the time. Could hurt Steve, which is bad enough. Now there’s Clint, too. Clint is good. He doesn’t need my shit. Suboptimal relationship parameters.

But he’s also his own person. So he should decide what he needs. I’m not his handler.

Sorry about the wet smear. Turns out that word is a little trigger. Not a big one but I dropped my notepad. Maybe Stark has waterproof ones somewhere. Also I may need a new shower curtain. I ripped mine.

I’m not _that_ anyway, so I shouldn’t make his decisions. But I don’t know if he understands how dangerous it is. Can be. I am.

And the dreams were not good. Lots of analyses of different ways I could accidentally cause harm in the future. Not just Clint and Steve. Memories, too. Not much sleep.

I am very sorry about your wings, Sam. And your car. I will get you the Bentley. I took a lot from Hydra’s accounts. They were not very good with security around me because they thought I would not care. I will even go to Wilson Thanksgiving.

Can we bring Steve to Wilson Thanksgiving, Sam.

I should tell Clint what I dreamed, maybe. Maybe then he’ll know how bad I can get. But it makes me feel a little sick. He should have the intel, though. Intel is important. When I was looking up PTSD they called it informed consent. They use it before research. Other people use it before sex. I think using it before most things make sense. It probably would be ~~adequate~~ appropriate in this scenario.

If I go to Wilson Thanksgiving can I also have Kevlar Pants. Just in case.

I don’t want to tell Clint anything. I don’t want to tell Stevie anything either. I’d rather just take a bath and eat cheese danishes. Specially because this place is full of people with PTSD. It’s not just me and you, it’s the whole Tower.

Actually it’s probably most of NY after that alien stuff they mentioned on the internet a few years back.

My point is that I don’t wanna make anybody else worse, and I don’t wanna talk. But informed consent is very important before decision-making, Sam. PropsforPTSD.com said so. There’s a whole section in the PTSD Clinical Practice by the American Psychological Association. That’s vetted professionals.

Ugh. The future sucks. Stark didn’t even make me flying cars.

Actually, Clint’s hoverbike probably counts. That’s a pretty little thing. I bet your wings are better.

I’m gonna have to talk to Clint, aren’t I.

I don’t know why I’m asking my wet notepad.

I think this worked. Maybe it did? I have a plan now. That’s improvement.

Your letter was good. It made me feel welcome, which is a new feeling. Didn’t expect such a nice letter after DC and all.

I’m sorry about Riley. It must hurt to see me sometimes, cause I came back and he can’t. If you have bad days you can write to me, though I’m not vetted or a professional.

Write to Steve. He’s not a professional either but he’s vetted and his responses would be real funny, so that would cheer you up a little, I think. You were right, too, he's always been that way, making me want to be better and then tugging me into crazy shit.

I’m going to get out of the bath now, so goodbye.

Bucky Barnes


	13. Chapter 13

“Why is it always meeee,” Clint was whining, and Tony snorted as he put his feet up on Clint’s bed. Natalie had taken one look at Clint’s limp after he’d decided to play paintball for some reason, and then taken Clint in a fireman’s carry down to the medical floors, stomping so his face bounced off her ass as he protested the whole way. She’d enlisted Tony to be guard dog when she’d realized Tony had paperwork to do – _you can do it there as well as here, and Clint’s a better distraction than your shitty desk toys_ – and so here he was, lounging in one of the bedside recliners, which was there by his own foresight when he’d realized how often they (Clint) got hurt and ended up needing bedside attention.

“Because you’re reckless and foolish?” he replied, tapping at his tablet to move to the next PDF, signing it absently, and sending it to Pep. Pep, Pep, Pepper. She was gonna be so proud of him. Getting his shit done on time. And if it was a way to work off some anxious energy over Barnes going all modern hermit on them, well. Responsible coping skills! Yay!

“I prefer to think of it as uninhibited and enthusiastic,” Clint said. Tony could see him over the tablet, pointing at Tony like it was an actual riposte.

“Which hippie multigrain energy bar of Bruce’s had that on the back?” Tony asked, glancing up. Clint huffed and sat back.

“Sunshine-exclamation point-trademark Responsible Energy Vegan Protein Powder Packs, actually. They were pretty good. And I knew all the ingredients without looking them up! Me!”

“I’m more impressed you bothered to read them at all,” Tony mused, sending another PDF off and getting a message back.

_Okay Tony what’s wrong_

_That’s like 17 things you’ve actually caught up on what did you do_

_Oh god that’s 19 you’ve definitely broken something large and expensive and important for our stock prices_

Tony huffed. “I can be responsible,” he complained to the tablet, and Clint snorted, grabbing a tissue from the side table and wadding it up.

“Can you, though?” he asked, and Tony gave him a side-eye, pulling up the next PDF with a flick of his stylus, because he was a responsible human being.

“Don’t, you can’t do Thor impressions.”

“I can do all the impressions,” Clint said, actually sounding offended as he tossed the tissue ball back and forth. “I was in the circus, I have skills.”

“Not the skill of common sense. You played paintball with broken bones.”

“I won,” Clint grinned, “I’m the best.”

“Well done,” Tony said dryly, sending off three more PDFs just to spite Pep. “Your reward is bed rest until Nat stops threatening anyone who lets you stand up.”

“Aw, catheter, no,” Clint complained. “I can still piss, right?”

Tony just met his eyes and slowly raised one eyebrow. Clint whined.

“Bucky owes me so much for this,” he huffed, falling back into the pillows. Tony frowned.

“What does Bucky have to do with it?”

Clint sighed, shrugging. “He asked Sam and I to keep Steve busy. He had the feeling Cap would go all –” he made wavy flailing hands next to his head, and Tony got the idea – “while he was on lockdown, so he wanted someone to distract Steve.”

“Why wasn’t I asked?” Tony said, blinking. “I could have distracted Steve. I don’t have broken bones.”

Clint paused, and scratched the back of his head. “I dunno?”

Tony frowned at him, then paused. “Barton. Did I mention the new arrows I’ve been working on?”

“Arrows?” Clint sat up like an eager puppy.

“Mm. Carbon-fiber shaft with my own little alloy mixed in, fixed that balance issue with the last ones, made it so we can put on some bigger tips without changing your aim style, and they’re purple--”

“Oh my god,” Clint breathed, eyes wide, hanging on Tony’s every word, and Tony smirked as he continued.

“-- too bad that I’m going to be so worried about Barnes and Steve, I probably won’t even be able to focus enough to finish them. Real shame, too bad, so sad, etcetera.”

“Aw, Tony, arrows, no.” Clint sounded both heartbroken and greedy. A crying child making grabby hands at the toy taken away from him. “That’s not fair.”

Tony snorted and sat back. “All’s fair in love and war.”

Clint went suddenly serious. “Yeah, that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

Tony frowned at him. Clint shrugged again, then huffed and laid back, staring at the ceiling as he wadded up another tissue ball, beginning to slowly juggle absentmindedly. “I mean. Love and war.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “We’re not at war.” His tablet pinged.

_Did you kill someone is that what this is_

_I’m going to text Rhodey_

_Actually never mind I’m texting Steve, Steve will know_

Tony frowned at the screen and sent a message back.

_You’re supposed to be proud of me, I’m being good_

“Not now. But they’ve both lived through it, haven’t they?” Clint said. “Bucky for like, a hundred years.”

_I’m very proud, Tony_

_Just also like, super worried and still texting Steve though_

“And what’s that got to do with the love bit?”

“We—eeelll,” Clint said, adding a third tissue ball into the rotation, “You and Cap.”

“What about us?”

_Listen I don’t see why Steve would know what I’m doing better than me_

Clint was giving Tony a side-eye, which Tony didn’t appreciate for several reasons. He didn’t appreciate getting attitude from both Clint and Pepper, for one, and for two, he and Cap didn’t have anything, they weren’t an item, Tony hadn’t put a single fingertip on those pecs, thank you very much, and for three, being able to juggle like that without even looking was weirdly intimidating.

“You and Cap,” Clint said, slowly and patiently, which was condescending and also unappreciated, “have been dancing around each other for ages, so Buck might not know what exactly to make of you two.”

Tony frowned at him. “We have not.”

“Have so.”

“Have not.”

“Have so.”

“Have not!”

“JARVIS, are Tony and Steve mooning pining wistful almost-lovers?” Clint asked the ceiling, and Tony growled.

“...I’m sorry, Mr. Barton, but I’m unsure what criteria to base your query on,” JARVIS answered, and Tony pointed a finger.

“Ha! That’s a no.”

“Not exactly, sir, I simply have no parameters by which to determine my response,” JARVIS said. Tony glared at the ceiling.

“You don’t need any, it’s a no, Clint’s just being ridiculous.”

“It’s stuff like eye contact for way longer than needed, and glancing at each other’s bums, and erratic behavior when the other one is upset, and sighing a lot when the other has someone pretty flirting with them,” Clint told JARVIS.

Tony rolled his eyes, because he hadn’t done any of that. Except maybe the bum thing. But that was universal. He dared JARVIS to find anyone who didn’t take a second look at Steve’s ass.

“I see. I shall analyze according to the best parameters I can arrange with such a description,” JARVIS said. Tony yelped.

“No, no, no analyzing!”

He was too late.

“Unfortunately, Sir, I must conclude that Mr. Barton is correct.”

Tony looked at Clint. “No arrows.”

“Awwww,” Clint whined.

“We’re not almost lovers.”

“You are. You were almost lovers like, ages ago, which is why I haven’t put the moves on Cap, cause you were totally casing that joint.”

“Yeah, cause – wait, no, what?” Tony frowned, narrowing his eyes, something that had been bugging him jumping forward. “Since when are you into dudes, Barton? Cause, seriously, I thought with the ex-wife, and then you’re suddenly kissing Bucky –”

“Ain’t no lie baby bi bi bi,” Clint sang gleefully, then dropped the tissues and did jazz hands as he sung the echo softer, “bi bi bi!” Tony glared at him. Clint grinned. “Dude, your bi-dar sucks.”

“Bi-dar isn’t a thing,” Tony said, offended, “That doesn’t even work with the pun.”

“It’s definitely not a thing for you,” Clint agreed, juggling again. “But let’s get back to the point, which is that you and Cap have a thing and I’m being a respectful friend about it, but now Buck can see the thing and isn’t sure what to do with it, I think.”

Tony stared at him. What. What? He and Cap – had a – “We don’t have a thing,” he said, “I have a one-sided, kinda creepy crush that I don’t talk about, because weird, and Cap’s oblivious, and why would that bother Bucky?”

Clint stopped juggling, meeting his stare with one of his own. “Tony. How are you this smart and this dense at the same time? J, tell me if Cap was equally in on the almost-lovers bum-staring and wistful sighs.”

JARVIS replied with a dry note in his voice. “If given the opportunity, Captain Rogers watches Sir leave the room 89% of the time with his eyes directed below the waist. Is that an acceptable parameter for analysis?”

“Oh my god,” Tony said, blinking. Clint snickered at him. Tony decided that was too much for the moment and looked back at his tablet.

_Steve said you’re bored watching Barton_

_Now I feel bad for doubting_

_I’m proud you’re using the time :)_

Tony looked past the message, focusing on nothing. Even Pep was asking Steve about Tony’s shit. “When did this happen?” he asked, dazed. Clint grinned.

“Sometime between the chest-to-chest posturing on the helicarrier and trying to figure out how to clean up Chitauri-fucked New York, you two got married and forgot to mention it to yourselves,” he said, and began to juggle again.

 Tony watched the little white floof-balls and said slowly, “Does Cap know we’re married?”

“I dunno,” Clint said. “I don’t think so, though. He’s just as bad as you with relationship shit.” Tony groaned and Clint chuckled. “It’s not so bad. Ask him to dinner. He’ll say yes.”

“I don’t wanna step on Barnes’ toes. They’re not metal, he can’t handle that, he needs his best friend to be all there and kumbaya and shit,” Tony word-vomited, beginning to panic slightly. “I can’t just go marrying Cap when Bucky needs his, I dunno, what does Sam call it, support system, and besides if I asked Cap to dinner he’d be all ‘sure’ and then he’d sit down and want to talk about how his lawyers are doing –”

“Hey, man, breathe,” Clint said, dropping the juggling again to look at Tony, face kind. Tony made a little high pitched choking sound.

“I was pissed you were straight cause we’d be damn good together,” was what fell out of his mouth. Clint blinked twice and then lit up like the arc reactor.

“Aw, fuck,” he said, going pink, “we would, too, but. You and Cap are good for each other, man. I can’t shove in on that. It’s Captain America. And Captain America’s ass. I can’t even compete in that event.”

Tony took a giant breath – as giant as he could manage, with his chest hosting a giant metal piece of gorgeously sexy tech – and looked at the ceiling, counting to ten. “Okay. Okay, all right. Whatever. No, you’re competition, we’re just. Respecting the whole. You-and-Bucky thing, and the Bucky-and-Cap friendship, and maybe like, six months from now when we’re certain nobody’s going on the run from the government and Bucky’s got a bigger support system going on, I’ll call you up and we’ll plan a Cap-dating game plan.”

Clint was still all glowing and pink when Tony glanced over. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah, we’ll do that, that’s like twenty times more responsible than what I was gonna do. Hang on, I’ll totally give you the brownie points.” He grabbed for his phone. Tony frowned.

“What brownie points?” he asked, and Clint grinned. “What brownie points? Since when do we do brownie points? How many have I got-” He lunged for the phone, but Clint sat on it. Tony’s tablet dinged.

_I’m picking up curryfrom the place by Happy’s, we’re doing dinner. Clint says you earned it. Proud of you._

Tony stared at the message and slumped. “Pep, Pep, Pepper,” he muttered, but felt himself relax, already looking forward to hashing this out with her and maybe getting his head back on straight. Clint looked proud of himself.

“She’s your Nat, of course she’s got the brownie points,” he shrugged. He laid back, playing a game on his phone. Tony watched him, then sent JARVIS a text. Two could play the brownie point game.

Tony was gonna win it. Clint was gonna love his fucking arrows.

Once Clint got bored of juggling and drifted to sleep, Tony headed down to the labs. Bruce was resetting the place – putting in gas tanks and filling reservoirs. Tony had offered a few lab assistants from StarkTech’s R&D department, but Bruce had shaken his head, determined to fix what he seemed to think was his mess.

Tony wasn’t sure how to tell him that it was definitely the Hulk’s mess, and Tony didn’t mind it. Tony was becoming something like fond of the Big Guy, considering the whole saved-his-life thing, combined with the visual of Bucky tucked up against the Hulk’s chest while the Hulk pet his hair, which JARVIS had conveniently caught on camera and added to Tony’s family scrapbook.

JARVIS was sworn to secrecy about the family scrapbook. Except Pepper, because Pep knew everything.

Bruce glanced up as Tony entered. Tony offered a matcha tea as a peace offering for invading the space.

“Oh, thank god,” was Bruce’s response, sounding disturbingly like a caffeine-deprived Barton. “Tea. I need tea. And –”

Tony held out the chocolate StarkBar (one of these days he was going to make one good enough that Bruce would stop buying his hippie shit) and Bruce moaned, grabbing and unwrapping it before shoving half of it in his mouth. Tony grinned, recognizing the signs of a man who’d forgotten what food was until he saw it.

“See, I could judge, but I’ve done that thing too many times to count. How’s it looking? Looks good from here. Save the important stuff from the mess? Got yourself set?” Tony shoved one hand in his pocket as he walked down an aisle between lab benches, eyes casually flicking from one machine to another.

Bruce used the tea to wash down his giant bite. “’m not replacing my PCR machine with a newer model, Tony.”

“I didn’t mention the PCR machine, I didn’t even look at the PCR machine, why are you talking about the PCR machine?” God, look at it now, though, that thing must have been made in the same era as DUM-E, it was probably so slow. That kind of industrial plastic had faded out of use sometime when Tony was in diapers, ew.

“I’m the only person doing research – good research, anyway – on gamma-altered DNA. I literally created the only protocol for testing it, and it’s on that model, and I am not making a new protocol for a new machine. I don’t need another PhD and it would delay my current research,” Bruce said patiently, before taking another bite and finishing the bar.

Oh. Well. In that case. Tony supposed it could be tolerated. For now.

“Send me that thesis?”

“Sure. J? Thesis six in the published papers folder,” Bruce said, sounding amused.

“I’ve sent the file, Dr. Banner,” JARVIS replied politely, and Tony suppressed the itch to run upstairs and start reading. He loved Banner Theses. They sometimes made him actually look things up, which was awesome. Tony loved a challenge, for all that people insisted Tony wanted the easy way out. If Tony wanted the easy way out, he wouldn’t make all his suits himself, he’d make somebody else do it.

A familiar name caught his eye as he passed a freezer. He paused.

“Hey doc, why’s this labelled for Agent?”

Bruce came over, looking at it with sad-crinkles around his eyes. He used to wear them all the time, but Tony’d done a pretty good job of making them rare. Or, rare-er, at least.

“They’re bio-samples,” Bruce said, eyeing the vials through the freezer door. “He came by, before the meeting in the helicarrier, when I was shacked up at SHIELD thanks to Natasha bringing me in. He insisted I take samples and made me promise to keep them.”

“Huh,” Tony said, staring at the last of Agent. “He give you a reason?”

Bruce shook his head. “Not really. He said he wanted evidence of himself other than at SHIELD. Something about having someone who could know you was always worth having. I wish I’d paid more attention. At the time I mostly thought it was some kind of spy bid for my trust and he was hoping for my samples in return. Now I’m not so sure.”

“Agent was cryptic like that,” Tony agreed quietly, remembering the bland, almost weak smile that had covered for a far stronger person.

“JARVIS said he’d help me keep them safe. I don’t normally keep them out so obviously, but with the remodeling –” Bruce shrugged. “I don’t know. It was the closest thing he had to a last request from me.”

Tony nodded. “I’ll get you a lockdown freezer made up. Something the Big Guy can toss around and not put a dent in.”

“They make those?” Bruce asked, and Tony grinned.

“Well, they don’t, but I can.”

Bruce sighed. “You don’t have to go out of your way.”

“’s not for you, it’s for Agent. Anything for Agent,” Tony said, feeling the wry twist to his lips. Bruce just nodded silently in response before sipping the last of his tea, and Tony clapped his hands. “Right. Put me to work, what do you need doing,” he demanded.

Bruce outright grinned.  


	14. Chapter 14

Pepper came in and set down the food, smiling at Tony, who was sitting but tapping away at his phone in a way that indicated jitters. “Hey, you,” she said fondly, kissing his forehead. He grunted but tilted his head into it, a smile playing on his lips. “Thank you for all the work you did today.”

Tony looked up at her, and distress flickered over his features. “Clint says Cap and I are married,” he blurted, “which is completely insane, right? That’s not a thing? We’re not a thing, Pep, but now Clint’s said it out loud and he can’t take it back and I mean, I wanted it to be a thing, but this is weird, and Bucky’s here and –”

Pepper bent and covered his lips with one finger. “Hello, Pepper, it’s nice to see you, thanks for bringing me food,” she said, feeling her eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiled, hair falling over her shoulder and brushing his cheek when she tilted her head. “I need to talk to you about my potential relationship with Steve, because I’m nervous.”

“Hi Pep it’s great to see you thanks for the grub _help_ ,” Tony responded in a single breath the moment she took her finger away. Pepper couldn’t help her little laugh as she sunk into the chair across from him, sighing with relief when she toed off her heels. 

“Okay, one step at a time,” she said, “The first being that you need to dish that out, because I’m not moving to serve another man for the next twenty-four hours.”

Tony flailed to grab the take-out, portioning out the food, and Pepper relaxed, watching his familiar habits, like how he always licked the spoon after filling his plate with green curry. “So Clint called you and Steve out?” she asked, gathering her hair back over her shoulder and braiding it so it would stay out of the way of the curry.

“Is that what this is? No wonder other people hate it when I call them out,” Tony said, sounding half resigned and half panicked. Pepper shook her head fondly.

“I guess that’s the oversimplified example, yes,” she said. “Tony, you can’t tell me you didn’t know you had feelings for Steve.”

“No, I knew that,” Tony said, waving around his fork as he shoved Pepper’s plate over to her. “I got that, that’s something I know, but. Clint. Married.”

“Okay,” Pepper said slowly, taking her plate and tucking her legs up next to her in the chair. “What does Clint mean by married?”

Tony waved at the ceiling in a familiar impatient movement and JARVIS responded calmly from above their heads. “The phrasing was _married_ , or _mooning pining wistful almost-lovers_ , with the criteria of the following: extended eye contact, focus on one another’s derriere, reactionary upset when the other is distressed, and personal distress when the other is speaking to a potential partner other than themselves.”

Pepper paused. “Well,” she said, “Clint’s accurate, at least. And JARVIS, you could add ‘hyperaware of each other’ and ‘make effort to emotionally communicate’ to the list.”

“Understood, Ms. Potts,” JARVIS said politely. Tony stared.

“What?”

“Steve knows where you are, most of the time,” Pepper said gently. “And if I asked you where Steven is...” she paused, waiting for Tony to finish.

“Right now he’s downstairs playing fetch with DUM-E because he feels guilty about breaking another punching bag and not noticing that Clint was screwing up his foot, but still needs to move around, so the robots are safe,” Tony said automatically, and then froze.

Pepper smiled at him. Tony Stark: continually shocked that other people liked him and he liked other people. “You’ve made the effort to know where he is and how he’s feeling, Tony. How often do you do that?”

Tony was staring at her, eyes huge, and Pepper felt a surge of fondness. They hadn’t worked out because they were too much for each other: being each other’s everything never worked when they had so importantly separate lives. They needed to support one another, not become the be-all end-all to one another, and the difference between those things had become painfully apparent by week three, when Tony was frantically trying to make his own schedule in order to lighten her load, and Pepper had found herself crying because she couldn’t understand advanced mechanical physics. 

No. As a couple, they definitely didn’t work. And Tasha had…. Tasha. Pepper’s heart flopped and pancaked like the hamster she’d seen snuggling into someone’s palm on YouTube yesterday. 

Natasha had slipped into the restroom when Pepper was having a small centering moment before a board meeting, practicing the deep breathing Sam had taught her over the sink and avoiding meeting her own eyes in the mirror. Pepper had straightened and immediately pulled herself together, but then Natasha had met her eyes and said quietly, “You know,” and her voice had said all of it. And that was the beginning of _them_.

Deep breathing exercises, Pepper learned, were 800% more effective when done into the curve of Natasha’s shoulder, soft hands stroking up and down her suit jacket, careful not to crease it. She’s mentioned this to Natasha last week, and joked that they should tell Sam about this development. Tasha had gotten a soft, thoughtful look on her face, and Pepper had shivered, and well. They might do that, actually.

Tony tried to sop up a bit of curry on some naan, and half of it dropped back onto his plate. Pepper loved Tony and he was being cute, and she was so grateful she didn’t have to choose between him and herself anymore. 

Refusing to meet her eyes, Tony muttered, “It doesn’t take much. He’s easy to read. Lets JARVIS know where he is almost all the time so he’s ready if there’s an alert. I just have to wonder what the most responsible man I know would do, and he’s probably doing it.”

_Most responsible man I know,_ Pepper thought, lips curving involuntarily. “I see. But he does the same for you.”

“I mean, yeah, he’s the _Captain_ , that’s what he does, de facto leader, blah blah blah, he tries to keep track of everyone, it’s his whole _shtick_ ,” Tony rambled at his naan, trying to sound blasé about it, which meant he cared a lot about it and didn’t want anyone to know. “He worries about everyone, Bruce said so.”

“Which is why he trusted you when you wanted to bring in his lost, best, only friend from his childhood into your home when there was a reasonable assumption you’d want to kill him,” Pepper nodded absently, and Tony looked up, eyes wide. Pepper smiled at him, letting the fondness show on her face. “Tony, _I_ know you wouldn’t kill him, but people who don’t know you would have made the easy assumption. And he didn’t make that assumption.”

“JARVIS has been telling on me,” Tony grumbled, face crumpling into a pout, and Pepper blinked before feeling her smile turn into a grin. 

“Oh? So this was a conversation, was it? Are you going to make me ask JARVIS for it, or are you going to spill the tea?”

“We don’t have tea, I don’t have tea, you’re not allowed to hang around the interns anymore, they’re a bad influence,” Tony told her, pointing his fork at her with a piece of lamb on the end. She snatched it to eat the bite, making him yelp in indignation, and raised her eyebrows.

Tony gave a melodramatic sigh. “We may have had a chat. One chat. A singular speaking engagement that lasted less than half an hour. In which he confirmed that I don’t have to feel bad about my dad being murdered and that he sympathizes about my mom and we’re both concerned about Bucky, that’s all, tah-dah, yay, communication or whatever.”

Pepper beamed at him, swallowing her bite before telling him fondly, “Clint was right, you have earned your brownie points today.”

Tony glared at her. “This was like a week ago.”

“Well, you earned them, anyway. And my point stands: how many people do you have heart-to-hearts with, Tony? Me, Rhodey, and…”

Tony groaned. “Do you think he knows?”

“Do I think Steve knows you like him, or that you treat him with love and respect?” Pepper asked. Tony slouched so far in his chair she wondered if he’d slide off. It would be nearly melodramatic enough to suit him if he did. 

“I just don’t want—” Tony began, but JARVIS interrupted.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said calmly, “But Colonel Rhodes is on the line for you.”

Tony blinked at the ceiling, and straightened up in his seat. “Put him though, J.”

“Tony?” Rhodey said, and Pepper sat up, eyes wide. That was not a good Rhodey-tone.

“Right here, honeybear, talk to me,” Tony snapped out, all business instantly, picking up on the same thing.

“Um, I just got a call from the AF asking if you’d done something. We’re getting readings off the charts from somewhere in New Mexico,” Rhodey said, voice nervous but professional. “Got anything for me?”

“No,” Tony said, “But I will. J, pull me up everything the AF has in New Mexico.”

“Yes, sir; accessing Air Force digital infrastructure now.” The wall changed colors as JARVIS projected information onto it in scrolling databases that Pepper couldn’t make head or tail of.

“Tony, you can’t just _hack the Air Force,”_ Rhodey protested, but Pepper could have told him it was useless. 

“Already did,” Tony said, and then swore creatively, getting up to stand in front of the wall, frowning at it. Pepper was already texting JARVIS discreetly to bring Cap upstairs when Tony said firmly, “Avengers Assemble.”

The alarm blared, lights flashing in the corners, and Pepper felt blood drain from her face as she got up, staring at the projection as if focusing hard enough would force it to make sense. “What is it?”

“Those energy readings look like the ones JARVIS got from the Chitauri portal,” Tony said, and Pepper had to grab his shoulder to steady herself. Tony had his arms folded over the arc reactor, body firm and still in a way Pepper knew meant that he was forcing himself into a fake calm.

“Shit,” Rhodey said vehemently, then, more muffled as though he were looking away from the phone, “We might get company. Don’t engage until the target is confirmed.”

“What have we got, Iron Man.” Steve’s voice was calm as he connected over the speakers. Pepper got ahold of herself, letting go of Tony’s arm. 

“Possible Chitauri portal in New Mexico. Got readings like the ones in New York—” Tony’s voice was cut off by Rhodey shouting. 

“NO! Stand down, he’s a friendly — he’s a friendly — fuck! Stand down.”

“Rhodes?” Tony’s question was sharp, only a little panicked, and Steve was layered over him. 

“Colonel?”

Rhodey’s short laugh made Pepper’s shoulders fall instantly with relief, and she saw Tony sway with it next to her. “Well, shit, man. Looks like you’ve got a friend over. Tell him to ring the doorbell next time.”

“What?” Tony asked, but Steve came over the speakers. 

“Oh — of course. It’s Thor, isn’t it? Thor’s back.”

“Thor’s back, Captain,” Rhodey confirmed, sounding pleased. “Gotta go run diplomacy, I’ll keep you updated. Sorry about the false alarm, Tones.”

Tony’s snort was nothing compared to the emotion Pepper had seen flicker over his face. “I’d always rather it be a false one, honeybear. J’s going to keep an eye on you just in case.”

“Please stop hacking the military, Tony,” Rhodey said, but it was fond. The click of the phone over the speakers signaled the end of the call. Pepper took a large breath.

“Well. That’s my dose of adrenaline for the day.”

“Holy shit,” said Tony. “I have to get a floor ready for Thor.”


	15. Chapter 15

**_Potomac + 2 months and 22 days_ **

“Explain,” Bucky said, staring at a photo of Thor JARVIS had helpfully found and printed for him.

Clint grinned and let his head drop into Bucky’s lap. Bucky had called him via JARVIS first thing in the morning, insisting on making waffles and then fussing over Clint’s broken bones. Clint had gotten kissed _four times._ It was the best morning.

And now he got to explain Thor.

Honestly, Clint didn’t deserve this, but who cared. He’d take it.

“That’s Thor,” he explained, picking up another picture and staring at the Asgardian jawline. “He’s what happens if you give a golden retriever pecs and a giant heart. And a hammer.”

“I thought that was Steve,” Bucky said blankly.

Clint chuckled, imagining a dog in the stars and stripes. “No, Steve’s a yellow lab that was created by beefing up some form of Chihuahua.”

Bucky snickered, looking down at him and stroking Clint’s hair. Bliss.

“He really was a Chihuahua. Barking at everything.” His voice was soft and fond.

Clint hummed, closing his eyes and relaxing before saying more seriously, “No, but in all honesty, Thor’s a good guy. He’s got Hawkeye Approval. Pretty badass, a good fighter, but off the field he’s a good friend. Really good at hugs.”

“Oh, is that what the biceps are for,” Bucky mused. Clint hummed without opening his eyes.

“They’re pretty awesome. As someone who has admired them in person, I can assure you that they are exactly as advertised.”

“I’ll have to ask for a hug, then,” Bucky said, but his voice was odd. Clint tilted his head and squinted up at him.

“What?” he asked, and Bucky swallowed.

“I — says here he’s a god,” he said, looking at the bullet points JARVIS had printed on the back of the picture. Clint wanted to get JARVIS to print them all in baseball card format. His archery stats would be amazing. “How’s that work?”

Clint shrugged. “He’s not a god — not that way. Not the religious way. More the ‘hey I visited the planet a long time ago and they were bewildered by what I could do and started to worship me when I left’ kinda way. But he’s pretty badass. Strong as hell. And his hammer plays favorites. That’s how I met him.”

“You met him because his hammer plays favorites.” Bucky stared at him. “Is the hammer his penis.”

“No,” Clint snickered, scrubbing his cheek against Bucky’s Henley. “No, it is a real hammer, but apparently you can only pick it up and use it if you’re worthy. I met him cause he’d been ‘deemed unworthy’ for a bit and he couldn’t pick it up. SHIELD had found this giant crater in the ground and there was this goddamn hammer stuck in the center, and we didn’t know what to do cause nobody can budge it. This guy comes busting through our barricade and trying to pick up the hammer and starts bawling when he can’t.”

“And you what, handed him a pack of tissues?”

“Decided not to shoot him. That’s how I make friends.”

“What.” Bucky blinked several times, hand pausing in Clint’s hair. Clint nudged his temple to Bucky’s stomach and he resumed.

“It worked with Nat,” Clint shrugged, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Someday you’ll have to tell me that story for real.”

“I mean. She was mostly right earlier. I was supposed to kill her, decided that was stupid, and bugged her with puns about my stab wound.”

“Stab wound?”

“She likes knives,” Clint reminded him.

“You didn’t shoot her, she stabbed you, and then you decided _stalkin’ the assassin who stabbed you_ was the best way to deal with that?”

“And making puns.”

“Oh my god. I have a type,” Bucky groaned, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. “Stupid-ass blonds with no sense of self-preservation.”

Clint glanced up and out of the window, smiling when he saw the familiar form of the Quinjet headed for the roof. Tony being the unofficial sponsor of the Avengers really came in handy. Especially when it meant getting cool shit like hover-bikes and Quinjets. “Well, you’ll get to meet another one now. Wanna go up and say hi?”

Bucky paused for a moment, and then nodded once. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go meet a god, sounds fun.”

Clint patted the back of his metal hand. “It will be,” he promised.

As soon as they got on the roof, Clint broke into a run. Thor was talking to Steve, smiling, and merely grunted when Clint launched himself into the air and clung to his back like a really hot purple koala.

“That had best be Barton,” he chuckled, voice slightly-too-loud like always. Clint liked it. It rumbled in his bones, even if he had his hearing aids off, and Thor was polite and tended to announce himself somehow when he entered rooms, which helped Clint’s blood pressure.

“It me,” Clint confirmed, and grinned when Thor reached back to grip his thighs and hoist him more comfortably onto his back.

“Hello, friend Barton,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “I see you are well.”

“I am fantastic, thanks, friend Thor,” Clint replied, making himself comfortable with a little snuggle closer. “Better now that you’re here. You staying?”

Thor sighed. “I hope to. Home is rather—” he broke off, and Clint peered over his shoulder to see what had got Thor’s attention, but it was just Bucky, standing with both hands in his pockets and watching them with a fond expression on his face. “Barton,” Thor said, “will you introduce us?”

“That’s my bae,” Clint said. “Bucky Barnes. Cap’s friend from the olden days, we stole him from Hydra.”

“I see I have much to catch up on,” Thor said wryly, before stepping forward and offering a hand. Bucky glanced at it and then carefully offered his to shake. Something tense left the set of Bucky’s shoulders.

“Call me Bucky,” Bucky said, and Thor nodded.

“I am Thor, son of - Odin.” Clint frowned at the hitch in Thor’s voice, but Thor plowed on. “Thor is fine. How have you adjusted to the, ah. What are we calling ourselves?” he asked Clint.

“Avengers, buddy. We’re the Avengers. Hard to miss. We’ve got Avengers tower, the Avenjet, the Avenjeep, the Avenjamas, the—”

“Avenjamas?” Tony asked, sauntering up with a drink that Clint hadn’t seen him getting. Jealous.

“Yeah, pajamas for Avengers,” Clint nodded seriously, and Tony smirked while raising his eyebrows.

“Done,” he said, and Clint had visions of purple-arrowed pajamas dancing through his head like sugarplums or whatever. Awesome.

“Yes,” Thor said, with the tone of voice that said he’d started ignoring Clint when he stopped making sense. “How are you adjusting to the Avengers, Bucky?”

Bucky tilted his head with a wry shrug. “Not that different from me an’ Steve’s group back in the day, but with more hot water and less dysentery and sepsis.”

Thor nodded seriously. “There is very little difference in battle-brethren, no matter the culture.”

Bucky’s face shifted slightly in a way Clint couldn’t read. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it,” he agreed. “You stickin’ around?”

“If I am welcome. My home has been tense of late. To be expected, perhaps, with my brother as he is.”

Clint pushed that thought out of his head, really fast.

“We get it,” Clint assured him, patting a giant pec. “You’re always welcome, man.”

Thor’s grin was large but slightly dimmed in wattage. Clint hated snake ugly even more for that. Thor should never be sad. It was like those fucking commercials with the sad puppies: wrong. “My thanks, friend Barton.”

“’s cool, friend Thor.”

“Dinner tonight?” Bucky said, and both Clint and Thor looked at him. They must have had the same confused face, because Bucky looked amused. “On my floor. Sounds like a good way to get settled, and I’m the only one other than Sam who can cook.”

“I would be most pleased to feast with you tonight,” Thor said formally, and Clint smirked. Yep, Thor liked Bucky. Win.

“Let me get my things,” Thor said, turning back to the Quinjet and patting Clint’s thigh. Clint slid off him, only mildly disappointed.

“Things?” Tony said, perking up, and Thor chuckled.

“You saw my bag, did you not?”

“Yeah, but — what kinda things, man, c’mon, gimme….” Tony’s voice trailed off as the two walked away to the jet. Steve trailed behind with a glance over his shoulder, leaving Clint next to Bucky.

Bucky tucked his hand in his pocket again, watching Thor. Following his gaze, Clint hummed in appreciation of the view.

“He’s nice,” Bucky said. “Not what I expected. But I get the dog metaphor now.”

Clint grinned and leaned against Bucky’s metal arm. “He’s great. He likes you.”

“Does he?”

“He went all Shakespeare when you invited him to dinner. Means he likes you. He still goes Ye Auld English around Nat.”

Bucky’s eyes tilted to Clint as he smiled. “Oh?”

“Ya done good, Papa Barnes. Raised a nice young gal all proper-like, ya can’t blame a nice young man for noticin’,” Clint teased, in his worst Midwest corn-fed accent, and then shrieked when Bucky shifted to jam a metal finger against his ribs and tickle.

* * *

Dinner was sausages and spaghetti. Apparently Bucky knew how to make spaghetti sauce from the ingredients instead of out of a can, and Steve came over to sit with Clint on the counter and pretend to talk while they both watched Bucky.

Sam wandered in with a Starbucks a few minutes later. Clint got twice the view as Bucky roped Sam into helping. Not that it seemed to take much; Bucky got along with everybody, so it took little other than a smile to convince Sam.

Clint’s face ached from grinning. Steve looked like he might be tearing up a little. Nat came in and took over dicing veggies, and Clint had to turn away for a moment.

Aw, emotions, no.

Thor came in about twenty minutes later, Tony talking a mile a minute next to him. Thor actually looked like he was keeping up, which was wild, because nothing that Tony was spouting made any sense to Clint. He had a small round thing that he was tossing from hand to hand.

“So it’s a puzzle,” he said at the end of his speech, like an afterthought.

“Yes. I thought it would be a fun diversion for you.” Thor looked amused.

Tony hummed and began to fiddle. Clint could see the thing shifting in his hands. Huh. Perfect for Tony.

“Get me anything?” he asked, and Thor chuckled.

“Feathers of the Gillsvag are in my parcels,” he said. “They are the finest fletching feathers, according to our archers.”

Clint grinned at him. “Have I mentioned you’re my favorite god of fertility?”

Bucky choked. “What.” He turned from his pan to focus on them.

Thor chuckled. “Thank you, Barton.”

“Really.” Bucky stared at him.

Thor shrugged. “One does not choose their abilities, merely how to use them.”

Clint grinned as Bucky let his eyes sweep over Thor slowly. “Oh? How do you use them, then?”

“Very, very well, but with my Lady Jane,” Thor chuckled, and Bucky’s eyes twinkled. Steve had a long-suffering look on his face, but his lips were twitching upward.

“Where is Jane?” Sam asked. He’d only ever met her on video chat, but Clint knew he looped her in on his occasional email updates. Sam had self-appointed himself team secretary somehow — mostly by just being reliable and writing things down.

Sam was so responsible.

Thor made a face that Clint, being a pro, could tell was a pout.

“She is with Eric and sister Darcy in New Mexico. I felt I should speak with you about recent events, but her work does not allow her to leave her research without warning. Eric will be joining us once he has been released from hospital.”

“Hospital?” Clint’s eyes went wide as he sat up, and Thor nodded, looking grave.

“He has been most distressed since — well.” Thor glanced at Clint’s face and seemed to stop himself from going into detail. “The Tesseract affected him more than was expected. Heimdall has been keeping an eye on him, because he seemed determined to complete a project that would open passage between our realms. That’s — actually how I am here. Our own rainbow bridge is still broken.”

“Broken?” Clint stared. What could break a rainbow?

“Dark elves. Long story. Sif was infected by a dark force. Mum nearly died and my father and I ended up fighting off an ancient foe of Asgard.” Thor looked grave, gripping Mjolnir.

“You’ve been busy,” Tony muttered, and Thor huffed a small smile.

“I wish I could say I have gained from it. But I fear Asgard is more in danger from within than without, now.”

Bucky lifted the spoon he was using to stir the sauce and pointed it at Thor. “No business during supper,” he ordered firmly. “We can have that update tomorrow once everyone’s gotten decent sleep.”

Half the team looked to Cap, wondering how he felt about someone else giving the orders, but Cap just began to snicker. Bucky glared at him. “I mean it, pal,” he growled at Steve, “I know you, you’ll try to get us into a briefing before we’ve even had a bite, and I’m not having it.”

Tony’s eyes were going back and forth between them both, glee written all over his face, and Clint caught Nat’s eye, watching amusement sparkle back at him.

“Buck,” Steve said, “Thor could have information on intergalactic threats.” He was laughing as he said it.

“Well, then they’d better not threaten too hard until tomorrow evening,” Bucky told him, still glaring, “because we’re not going to give a shit until then.”

Tony interjected, “What if we get blown up?”

“Well then, we won’t care about space shit, will we?” Bucky retorted. “Food before business, buddy, get used to it. Barton, grab us some plates.”

Clint hopped up, going for the plates and sneaking a smooch to Bucky’s cheek as he passed. “Keeping us all in line, Sarge.”

“Always, doll,” Bucky said wryly. Clint’s face went red, taking the plates down carefully. Doll. Fuck.

When he turned around he could see Steve still snickering, grinning like a moron. At least their Captain seemed to enjoy getting scolded instead of getting peeved about it. He set the table as Thor asked wryly, “Am I right in believing this is an old conflict renewed?”

“I didn’t realize I missed him ragging on me until he started it up again,” Steve said.

“Every single time we got the team into a safe spot with fucking food and a moment to breathe, he’d be on us to start up strategy and training and who-was-what and all I wanted was my goddamn rat stew.” Bucky glared at Steve. “A man should be allowed to enjoy his goddamn meal.”

Nat’s eyes twinkled when she followed Clint, carrying silverware. She set the table perfectly, before signing where the others couldn’t see, _It’s nice to see Cap acting like a human being._

_No need to set him up on more dates,_ Clint agreed, and Nat snorted.

_Ten bucks says you and Steve have to share the Sergeant._

Clint’s eyes glazed over. Oh, boy. That was a mental image. Nat jabbed his ribs to kick him out of it, snickering at him.

“Right, Thor, you grab that pot, I’ll take this one,” Bucky decided, and Thor gamely shifted to pick one of the giant pots off the stove over to the table. Sam was already coming over with potholders, setting them down and shifting out of the way. Tony stared.

“That is a lot of spaghetti.”

“Three super-soldiers, a god, and _Barton_ ,” Bucky said, “I thought it best to be prepared.”

“Point to Barnes,” Tony said wryly.

The elevator opened and Bucky straightened up suddenly. Pepper stepped out, and Clint grinned. Of course Bucky would be on best behavior. What got Clint laughing was Steve, who scrambled to stand up automatically when he saw Bucky straighten, only to catch himself and blush bright red.

“Hello ma’am.” Bucky came forward and offered a hand, looking almost shy. “Um. Thank you for letting me stay.”

“It’s my tower!” Tony interjected, as Pepper smiled and took Bucky’s hand.

“You’re always welcome, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Bucky, please.”

“Then you must call me Pepper,” Pepper agreed, and dropped her hand. “Thank you for the dinner invitation.”

Bucky smiled in a way that made Clint’s heart do funny things. “Seemed a bit rude to be living on someone’s dime and not meet ‘em yet, Miss Pepper.”

“It’s my money!” Tony said, but neither of them were paying him any attention.

“Well, if the smell is indicative of how the food tastes, you’ve already made a fantastic impression,” Pepper assured Bucky, who escorted the way back to the table. Bucky looked flattered.

Nat shifted next to Clint, and it took him a moment to realize the very tips of her ears were pink. Nat was _blushing_. Aw. Happy that dad and girlfriend got along, yes. Clint was going to die of happy family vibes. Fuck. And the room smelled like good sausage. And spices. It felt warm.

He liked it.

“Where’s Bruce? Get Bruce, J,” Tony said, glancing at the ceiling, “Bruce will back me up.”

“Doctor Banner is in the elevator already, sir,” JARVIS responded. “He’s brought salad.”

Pepper hugged Nat, the two tucking themselves together with soft murmurs Clint couldn’t hear even with his aids. Bucky grinned at Clint before glancing over his shoulder.

“Aнтонка, mix us up some punch? You’re the guy with the booze, right?”

“Oh, so now I’ve got things. Not my tower, or my money, but my booze, sure, you’ll go right for that, great, feeling the love here,” Tony complained, but he was already on the way to the kitchen island to pull out bottles. Clint grinned and flopped into a chair.

“Can we eat now. Buck. Bucky. Buck.”

Thor grinned and sat next to Clint. “Impatient, Barton.”

“Bucky cooks real food,” Clint explained. The smell was driving him nuts. “Real food is awesome. No MREs. No freezer meals. No packaged shit.”

“I do not mind your packages.”

“You’re just addicted to Pop-Tarts.”

“They are a marvel of your society.”

“Tony, where is the pineapple juice? What the hell are you putting in — no man, what, aw,” Sam muttered, and headed to the island. Soon they were both nudging each other out of the way as they fought to add their own ingredients. Clint eyed the bottles in use warily. That punch might even get Steve drunk.

Excellent.

“Doctor Banner,” JARVIS announced, and Bucky headed back to the elevator as it opened, taking the bowl of salad as Bruce came in.

“Sorry I’m late,” Bruce began, but Bucky shook his head.

“It just came off the stove. Take a seat,” he said, as Tony and Sam carried an insanely large punch bowl to the table.

Bruce grinned as he sat himself next to Thor, who greeted him in his normal effusive manner. “Friend Banner! How are you and your green companion?”

“We’re good,” Bruce said bemusedly. “Went green the other day, but Barnes helped out.”

“I mostly just brought him more stuff to smash,” Bucky said, setting down the salad and going for tongs.

Thor considered that. “I feel like that is a respectful introduction,” he said after a moment, and Bucky tilted his head as he came back.

“Do you?”

“Smashing is an important activity to friend Hulk,” Thor explained. “You showed consideration for his interests.” Bucky smiled slightly. Clint let his eyes flicker between them as Thor grinned back and admitted, “I myself have a fondness for smashing. A good battle is a thrilling thing.”

Bucky paused and half nodded. Huh. Even Clint enjoyed a decent fight — not all of them, and he’d much rather all the bad guys were gone. But he couldn’t pretend he didn’t enjoy a good sparring session, or finally taking down a group of Doombots. Did Bucky not like fighting?

Aw, man, they made a great sniper team, but Clint could get why Bucky might be done with fighting. Years of forced killing could do that to you. On the other hand, if Steve kept fighting, Clint couldn’t see Bucky stopping. So far. Huh.

“The Other Guy seems pretty pleased, anyway,” Bruce said. “I haven’t been close to turning green since. It’s been a while since I’ve gone that long without fighting one down.”

Bucky actually went pink, and Clint grinned as the others finally sat down. “Food now?”

“Food now,” Bucky agreed, looking amused. “Pass plates up, I’ll serve on this end.”

Nat smiled from her seat across the table. “I’ll do the salad on this end.”

“Pass up glasses,” Tony said from by the punch bowl. The table came alive with movement as everyone started passing plates and glasses around. Clint lost track of conversations in overlapping waves of sound that his aids couldn’t parse as he handed off his plate and glass. He found himself focusing on Bucky when sound ceased to make sense. Normally sound going fuzzy made him tense, and he’d found focusing on someone he trusted would help; generally Nat or — well. Nat, now.

Or maybe not, because now he was focused on Bucky, and it was helping; Clint found himself able to stay calm until everyone had food and the sound returned to a normal level. Bucky was looking at Tony when the noise came back into focus.

“…use most of the floor.”

“I don’t need that much room,” Bucky shrugged. “This place is the size of the tenement Steve and I used to live in.”

“So spread out!” Tony said waving a hand. “Give yourself some space. J can get you whatever you need.”

“I don’t even know what I would do with it,” Bucky said with amusement as Sam snorted.

“Hell, man, me and Steve are sharing a floor and we have too much room,” he said, and Tony threw up both hands in despair.

“I give you penthouses, and you live in the butler’s apartment,” he grumbled at Bucky.

“I’d never hire a butler,” Bucky said easily. “And it’s cozier this way.”

“Yeah, why put butler places on the floors anyway?” Steve said curiously, and Tony paused before poking at his spaghetti.

“Edwin Jarvis,” he said to his pasta.

“Howard’s butler?” Nat said, and Clint blinked. Huh.

“He, Mom, and Aunt Peggy were the ones who actually bothered with me,” Tony shrugged. “But he had like, a single room, he didn’t even have his own kitchen. He never seemed to mind, he used ours, but I couldn’t ever stay with him overnight. I mean, no big deal, but I figured I’d make sure any place I had didn’t have that issue.”

Clint felt his stomach flip slightly. Tony only rarely mentioned his childhood, if ever, and this was… something. Painfully honest. He glanced around the table, and found Nat with her ‘loading’ face on — the face she put on when she was absorbing information and refusing to react to it. Steve looked disappointed, but not in Tony, if Clint was going to guess.

But Bucky’s response was what caught Clint’s eye, because it was… admiring. “Good thinking. Makes sure everybody has what they need,” was all he said. It worked to break the tension. Tony brightened up with a wave of his hand, blithely back to himself.

“I try,” he said, “I mean, not that any of you are _using the space_.”

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe that’s because I like going to your floors and bugging you until we blow something up. And then we only ever blow up _your_ stuff.”

Pepper looked down the table. “Sergeant Barnes.”

He actually looked chastised. “Sorry Miss Pepper,” he said. “But if I join him, at least we’re only blowing up one set of stuff?”

Nat snickered as Pepper leaned back with a sigh. “I can hardly expect you to stop him,” she finally admitted. “But do your best not to blow _yourselves_ up.”

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky nodded.

Clint hadn’t ever seen that expression on Tony before. His eyebrows and set of his jaw said he was bewildered, but pleased about it. Steve was focused on Tony, a crease between his eyebrows. Bucky just turned back to his food, like he hadn’t both defused the tension _and_ somehow managed to placate Pepper Potts into letting him blow things up. Clint never got people to agree to let him blow things up.

Thor had been quiet next to Clint. This wasn’t really surprising, because Clint had found that Thor — when not affected by evil alien scepters — tended to watch and learn group dynamics before joining. Smart, and probably something he’d learned in diplomacy classes. Clint had to remind himself that Thor was a real-life goddamn prince sometimes, but other times it showed. Clint had figured out Thor’s watch-and-learn method during the several months Thor had ended up staying with them after the Chitauri, convincing world leaders that it was best to let him take the trouble back to Asgard.

However, now Thor spoke up. “My Lady Jane has to take care of Selvig, as well as her own work, but I would like to make a space for her and sister Darcy, if it is possible.”

Tony brightened up. “Already on it. I’ve got a floor, we just have to fill it. We’ve gotta fill yours, too, I just gave you the essentials. Only a few hours notice and all. We’ll go shopping tomorrow, find you some stuff to outfit your new digs. It’ll be great. Get you stuff to fancy up Jane’s floor too.”

Thor beamed. “I must find shoes.”

“Right, shoes, we can do that,” Tony agreed easily.

“Wait, why shoes?”

“Sister Darcy assured me that room for shoes was essential to any woman’s home. I informed her that my lady only seemed to have three pairs of shoes to my knowledge, and Miss Darcy was disturbed at the news. She made it clear that as Lady Jane’s paramour, I am responsible to remedy this.”

Nat’s smile was feral. Clint looked at Thor, looked at her, and then pulled out his phone to send a text.

_You jerk. You’ve created a monster. Nat’s going to drag Thor shoe shopping._

Darcy’s reply was nearly instant.

_If you don’t send me video I am excommunicating your ass. You will be dead to me._

Clint groaned, but then Bucky was grabbing his phone. “No phones at the table.”

“Aw,” he complained. “But I have to stop Darcy. She’s a schemer, Bucky. Buck. I’m trying to avert disaster.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Avert disaster later.”

“Aw, Bucky, no,” Clint whined. Thor was watching them both with amusement.

“What has sister Darcy done?”

“Nat’s taking you shoe shopping,” Clint groaned, and Thor blinked.

“Is she?” he asked, glancing at Nat, who nodded firmly.

“Oh, yes.”

“Marvelous,” Thor said, and Clint whined.

“Not marvelous! It’s a trap, Thor. It’s a trap.”

“Methinks you are being what sister Darcy calls a drama queen.”

“Drama king,” Steve corrected. “Tony’s a pro.”

“I really am,” Tony agreed, “though I like to consider myself more of a Drama Emperor. Drama Supreme Leader. Lord of Drama.”

“Hereby proving Steve’s point,” Sam said dryly. Pepper was rolling her eyes while Bruce snickered.

“I attempt excellence at everything I put my mind to,” Tony said with faux modesty. Bucky was pursing his lips, like he didn’t want to give Tony the satisfaction of laughing.

“All I’m saying,” Clint said to Thor, “is that I’ve warned you. I’m warning you now.”

“Understood,” Thor agreed, smiling, but he obviously didn’t understand the fear of shoe shopping with Nat.

“What’s dessert?” Sam asked, sitting back from his empty plate, and Bucky shrugged.

“I asked Aнтонка to bring ice cream, but he showed up with nothing but his new alien toy.”

“Listen. Ice cream melts,” Tony said, “What do you expect from me, you think I’m going to be that asshole who shows up and leaves you with melted ice cream? You are allowed to expect better of me.”

“Tony,” Pepper said patiently, and Tony gave her a wounded look.

“What? JARVIS is sending the bots up with the boxes whenever we ask. I’m responsible!”

“Boxes?” Bucky looked wary. Clint felt like this was long overdue. Wary was a good default when it came to Tony.

“I figured I should give you a taste test. A real understanding of the modern range of ice cream.”

Bucky sat back. “How much ice cream did you get,” he said, looking more amused than anything else, his lips twitching.

“47 flavors,” Tony said smugly. “Baskin-Robbie can suck it.”

“I don’t — I don’t even know what that is,” Bucky said with a bewildered, resigned expression, and Tony grinned.

“They’re inferior and don’t matter, because I have a better selection,” he assured Bucky, and Sam snorted.

“Shall I send DUM-E up, sir?” JARVIS asked politely, and Tony grinned.

“Yeah, J, I gotta introduce Capscicle to Popsicles.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t order a selection of those, sir,” JARVIS apologized. Steve was protesting.

“I know popsicles!”

“Oh, I bet you do,” Tony leered, and Clint internally facepalmed. Aw, innuendo, no. Tony went bright pink, like he could hear Clint’s thoughts, and Clint paused. Huh. That was new. Steve apparently noticed, too, because his ears went pink a moment later.

If it weren’t so dumb, it would have been cute. But it was too dumb. Clint needed to just make them kiss already.

The elevator opened to show DUM-E shoving along a trolley stacked with boxes as Clint asked the Important Question. “But is there purple ice cream?”

“Barton does require purple at all times,” Thor agreed with a beautifully sincere expression. Clint appreciated Thor.

“You think I’d let you down like that, Barton? B? Clint, Hawkeye, Legolas, Katniss, my sweet arrowy friend, you think I’d forget your most consistent requirement in all things? I am hurt. I am insulted. I—”

“What’s the flavor,” Clint interrupted, and Tony grinned.

“Whisky.”

“Have you considered marrying me.”

“I have, but I’ll set some extra time aside in my bunk to muse on it tonight.”

“Do that,” Clint told him, making grabby hands at DUM-E, who beeped happily, wheeling over the trolley. “Maybe you’ll get some sleep.”

“This is an attack when I have been nothing but kind to you,” Tony jibed back as Clint began to unload boxes onto the table, Bucky grabbing dishes out of his way and stacking them in the empty spaghetti pot. Clint began to tear open boxes, Thor helping unload the ice cream tubs.

“Why didn’t you get pints?” Bruce asked, “You could have just gotten pints for taste-testing.”

“Then if we all like the same flavor we’d never have enough,” Tony protested.

“But now if we all hate a flavor we have to toss a whole tub.”

“Or we give it to Clint and he’ll use it as ice packs when he breaks another bone.”

“Why do you assume I’m going to be the one with broken bones?” Clint frowned, and glanced up, affronted, when Sam snorted. “You don’t know my life, Wilson.”

“No, I just know Nat, and she knows your life.”

“Betrayal,” Clint complained. Bucky took the pot of dishes to the kitchen and came back with bowls and spoons. “I’ve been good.”

“You ran, in your cast, to jump on Thor today,” Nat said dryly. Clint looked at Thor.

“I repeat. Betrayal.”

Thor shrugged. “I merely asked what your unusual garment was.”

“Be. Tray. Al.” Clint waved a spoon at him before giving him a bowl with a sampler scoop of pistachio ice cream, because he deserved that after ratting him out to Nat.

Thor took a bite. “This is nearly as good as Pop-Tarts.”

Clint shook his head at him. “Your tastebuds are more broken than my bones, man.”

The ice cream was a hit. Clint ended up having to share his purple ice cream with both Tony and Bucky, who had good taste. Nat stole the entire tub of mint chocolate chip, though she consented to giving single scoops to both Pepper and Bucky. Bruce took the vegan chocolate, which Clint hadn’t even known existed, but it didn’t taste terrible, which was impressive. Steve was apparently vanilla in more than one way because he stole that one, and Sam grabbed the chocolate peanut butter and dug out all the peanut butter ribbons with gusto. Tony filled the rest of his bowl with cotton candy, because he hadn’t had a childhood, and Thor didn’t even bother with a bowl after the pistachio, instead just sampling from whatever was placed in front of him. Pepper actually _chose_ pistachio when asked. Bizarre. Bucky finished his bowl up with black cherry with chocolate chunks, which Clint found a respectable choice because the black cherry did look awfully dark purple.

Maybe it was a little much for Clint to take on, but he liked to think it was his duty to eat enough to represent regular humans around all of these super-powered assholes. It took effort to stand, and he might have sneakily loosened his belt a few notches under the table, but it was worth it.

“Right,” eventually Pepper said, “I’m afraid I’ve got to head out, I’ve got a meeting in the morning that I have to prepare for.”

“I’ll go with you,” Nat agreed, smiling, “Seeing as I helped cook, I’m sure James will let me out of dishes.”

Bucky grinned at her. “I’ll figure it out,” he said, “You take care of your gal.”

“I’m going to also head to bed,” Bruce said, “Though I can help with the dishes, if you’d —”

Bucky waved him off. “You brought the salad, you’re covered. Steve and Sam are making breakfast, Clint’s lugging this ice cream upstairs to his place. Thor, do you mind helping a man out with a dishtowel?”

Thor beamed. “My dishwashing skills are approved of even by sister Darcy.”

“Gee. Legendary dishwashing skills. Who can argue with that?” Clint noticed Bucky looked amused every time Darcy was mentioned. He kinda wanted to introduce them, even if he knew it would only lead to chaos.

Speaking of Darcy — he shifted as he gathered up half-full ice cream tubs, and stole his phone back from Bucky. The rest of the group was getting ready to leave, but Tony helped him load the trolley.

“I’m taking the last of the brownie chunk,” Tony said, stealing it from the cart, and Clint rolled his eyes. Clint still got the chocolate chip cookie dough, so Tony was missing out. “I’m going to go work on —”

“You’re going to your bunk,” Clint said with a pointed finger. “You promised.”

Tony’s eyes went wide with a mixture of amusement and alarm. Clint turned to Steve. “Cap, take Tony to his floor and make sure he gets into bed.”

Steve blinked. “O…kay?” he said, and Clint huffed, because obviously Steve didn’t get it.

“Who got the Thor Floor ready? After working all day?” He pointed at Tony.

Steve’s eyes widened. “Tony, didn’t you get sleep?”

Tony huffed. “I mean. I got a few minutes—”

“Clint’s right. I can’t believe I didn’t realize. You’re going to bed,” Steve said, and took the ice cream from Tony before tossing an arm around his shoulders and heading for the elevator. Clint grinned at Tony’s slightly concussed expression and winked at Sam, who looked resigned and amused.

“Right, seeing as I’ve been put on breakfast duty, I’m gonna crash, too,” Sam said, and helped DUM-E push the trolley to the other elevator. “Thanks for dinner, Barnes!”

Bucky waved an elbow, hands full of dishes he was piling up. “Welcome, Wilson. Bye, sweetheart.”

“See ya, schnookums,” Clint blurted, too worried about what his face was doing at the word _sweetheart_. He saw Bucky pause as the doors closed with a look of bewilderment, and Sam turned to him the moment they closed.

“Schnookums?” was all he said.

“Shut up! I panicked!” Clint said, flailing his hand while the other one fisted in his hair. “Oh god. He’s gonna ask JARVIS what a schnookums is.”

Sam did his best — Clint could see his mouth twitch and his chin tremble — but the moment the doors closed behind him on Sam and Steve’s floor, Clint could hear him burst into laughter. He slumped against the elevator wall with a sigh. Aw, schnookums, no.

His phone went off.

_Don’t think I didn’t notice you palming my pocket, Cutie Patootie._

Clint stared at it, outraged, and then glared up at the ceiling. “JARVIS! CUTIE PATOOTIE!?”

“I’m afraid I have no control over the results of a google search for ‘modern pet names,’ Mr. Barton.”

“I’ll show him a cutie patootie.”

“I believe he’d find that agreeable, Mr. Barton.”

“No — I — oh, fuck, sometimes I forget Tony’s the one who programmed you,” Clint moaned as the door opened on his floor.

“Indeed. Have a good night, Mr. Barton.”

“Seeya, sugar circuits.”

“My, my, Mr. Barton.” JARVIS’s voice was dry, and Clint couldn’t help his own snicker even as DUM-E helped him get the trolley to his freezer.

He put the ice cream away, and even went back to using the goddamn scooter when DUM-E dragged it over and began beeping concernedly at him. But then DUM-E buzzed his way down to Tony, and Clint was by himself.

The happy bubbly feelings left pretty quickly alone in his place.

For one, Bucky was absolutely right. Clint’s floor was too big for just one person. There was too much room, and too many hallways, and his hyper-vigilance didn’t like how many sight-lines there were to keep track of. It was too quiet. And there wasn’t even Lucky to pad around the halls.

Tony would just have to deal with Clint bringing his dumbass half-blind pizza dog to the tower.

He understood why Bucky didn’t have him spending the night. For one, they hadn’t really hashed out this whole relationship deal, and for two, he knew how nightmares worked. He didn’t really want Bucky staying the night at his place for the same reasons. But also, it just felt really… open. And empty. And cold. He thought about closing the blinds to make it feel less dark, but then panicked a little at the idea of not having the view.

Ugh. Clint forced himself to make a coffee, patting down his side holsters absently while it brewed, taking the Glock apart and checking the slide for dust gritting the mechanism. It was fine, just like it had been this morning when he checked it before putting it on.

Coffee. Working weapons. Crossbow grabbed from the top of the fridge. _Dog Cops_ on television. Purple blanket. Hearing aids out. Subtitles on.

Okay. Not great, but better.

Sergeant Whiskers deserved a nicer partner on this case, hot damn. Sergeant Spots was a moron.

The thing was, Clint mused as he watched dogs solve crime, that it wasn’t going to last. It hadn’t lasted last time. It had been great — three months of everyone in New York, slumming around at the Tower and generally causing chaos as they tried to help NY rebuild while also teaching Thor and Steve about things like the Internet and Heelies.

But then Thor had gone home — for good reasons, but still. And SHIELDra had stolen Steve off to DC, and while that didn’t stop Clint from dropping by when bored, it was a long way there and back, and Nat was constantly on missions, and it had all fallen apart. Clint had found himself bouncing between his friends’ houses like a rubber ball, wanting to see people but constantly forced to go between SHIELD barracks, Steve’s DC SHIELD apartment, the Tower, and Bed-Stuy. He got it, but it sucked.

That was it in a nutshell; this was a happy middle ground, but eventually everyone would go be adults and Clint would be left eating Froot Loops from the box in his shitty Bed-Stuy apartment and hoping not to get pantsed by the Russian mob again next week.

And why the hell would Bucky want to join him in that? He’d stay with Steve, probably, Steve had eight decades of back pay and once Tony’s lawyers got him off the crazy SHIELDra charges, he’d be set. Which was good. Cool. Honestly, if Bucky and Steve didn’t stick together, Clint would be a little mad. Cap needed Bucky, that was clear, and Bucky was grounded when Cap was being all Steve-y.

Still meant Clint would be heading back to Bed-Stuy, and while he could visit and all, he’d be back to alone. Like this. All the time.

Well, not exactly like this. Watching _Dog Cops_ with Lucky was infinitely preferable to watching _Dog Cops_ without Lucky.

And then there was the problem of Steve and Tony, and Steve and Bucky, and Bucky and Clint. What if Bucky wasn’t snuggling down with Cap? Clint had snuck into Steve’s DC apartment like a thousand times and had barely gotten him to laugh. It took _work_. He’d thought it was just Captain America being all Captain-America-y, but then Bucky had showed up and now Steve couldn’t stop grinning. It was obvious that Cap needed someone who _remembered_ everything he’d lived through, and Bucky could do that. Not even Carter could do that, these days.

Not to mention the way Steve looked at Bucky like his smiles powered the arc reactor. And the arc reactor powered Tony, and Steve loved Tony, so that said a lot.

So if Bucky wasn’t snuggling down with Cap, it was… sad. And weird. But Clint got the idea that he _wasn’t_ , and if that was ‘cause of Clint… aw, man. No. And besides, what about Clint? Clint was terrible at monogamy. Bad idea.

Damn, he really needed to talk with Bucky about this. But how did he even do that? “Heya Buck, mind explaining why you’re not fucking Captain America? Also, mind if I kiss like, everyone?”

Not great.

Aw, no. Sergeant Spots. No don’t do that, Sergeant Spots. Aw, man. Anybody could have told you not to go into the creepy alley, Sergeant Spots. That’s where the meanies are.

Would Steve be okay with that? Sharing Bucky? And Tony definitely needed Steve, and Steve needed Tony. Aw, relationships were hard, fuck. Clint rubbed his head. He just wanted them to kiss already, dammit. What if Cap decided to be all 1940’s about it and only kiss one at a time? Tony would be heartbroken. Or maybe Bucky would be.

Meh, if Cap decided to stick his head up his ass, Clint would just have to smooch whoever got left behind. Tony and Bucky were too nice to not be loved on. Clint could do that.

If they let him.

Probably not.

Ugh, relationships were _hard._

And he’d fucking lost the plot of _Dog Cops_.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Potomac + 2 months and 23 days** _

Tony peered at the sunlight in his eyes. Bedsheets — pillow. Shirt on — gross, he was all sweaty. Why was he sleeping in his shirt?

Oh, right. Steve. Cappy Cap Cap. Bed. Steve had picked him up by the back belt loop when Tony had insisted on the lab, and instead dumped him into the bed like he weighed as much as a socket wrench. He’d brought Tony his toothbrush. Tony hadn’t brushed his teeth in bed since college, when Rhodey would insist that he had to brush them because ‘even if you’re going to have a hangover in the morning, you should have clean teeth.’

Steve had sat in the armchair and pulled a little sketchbook out of his pocket and refused to leave. So Tony had shoved off his pants under the covers and continued to complain about being forced to sleep until he’d… apparently… slept.

Huh.

He shifted to look over at the chair Steve had settled in, wondering how long he’d stuck around. His chest went tight around the sheath for the arc reactor at the sight of Steve drooling on the upholstery, his giant bulk tucked into the chair. He looked so young, his face losing the Constant Frown of Vigilant Freedom.

His sketchbook had dropped from his curled fingers, and Tony quietly wrestled himself out of his blankets to pick it up carefully, knowing how important this thing was to Cap. He curiously flicked through a few pages. Old-timey New York, no surprise there. Aunt Peggy, looking so young, wow, that was weird. Bucky, of course — looking young, too, happier, lighter in the eyes. And — oh.

Tony stared at the sketch of himself, and turned the page. Clint. Bucky. And then more of Tony — sketch after sketch. Tony knew Steve had been around; before Bucky had shown up, Clint was in Bed-Stuy and Sam was trying to get the VA job figured out, so Steve had wandered the tower, trying to find ways to occupy himself. Sometimes that meant meandering into Tony’s labs.

Tony enjoyed it; Steve was cool to have hanging out. He never minded Tony talking, and didn’t need too much attention. He’d sit and occupy himself with the bots or his sketchbook. Having heart-to-hearts with Steve wasn’t his thing, but hanging could be. Steve was quiet when he hung around. Drawing Tony.

Tony frowned at the drawings of himself. He looked… nice. Steve didn’t shy away from Tony’s messy side. Several of the sketches had engine oil on Tony’s cheeks, hair spiked from running his messy hands through it, sleeveless shirts streaked. But it was his own face that caught his eye — animated. Grinning, expressive, excited.

He didn’t think the media had ever managed, in their thousands of photographs of him, to get these expressions on his face. He wondered if they were drawn from life, or if Steve had been projecting a little. Maybe JARVIS had some videos from the days these had been sketched?

“Sorry.” Steve’s voice was so quiet Tony barely heard it, and he looked up from the page to see Steve watching him. His face was creased with apprehension. Tony frowned harder.

“For what?”

“I, um. Invasive, I guess. Drawing you without asking.”

Tony blinked and held up the page. “Is this really what I look like?” he demanded.

Steve blinked. “Um. Yes? I mean, I can’t draw you perfectly, obviously, I’m not that good—”

“Shut up, this is amazing, the drawing isn’t what I’m talking about, I mean my face, do I make that face?” Tony glanced between the page and Cap.

Steve blinked twice, face still mashed into the chair cushion. “Yes. When you’re excited about your work. It’s — you get enthusiastic.” He smiled, eyes still glassy with leftover sleep.

Tony stared at the page. “Huh,” he said. “JARVIS, call Platypus, video.”

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS said. Steve’s forehead creased in confusion as Rhodey picked up, a projection on the far wall showing a wavering camera view as Rhodey’s own bleary face winced at the camera.

“Tones,” he said, voice gravelly, “Please tell me you didn’t start a national emergency.”

“Rhodey. Rhodes, look at this, buddy, look, do I make this face?” Tony held the book up toward one of the corners where he knew JARVIS had a camera.

Rhodey squinted and then grinned, mushing his face further into the pillow. “Yeah, man.”

“Really?” Tony blinked. “Huh.”

“When you’re happy. Severely nerding out,” Rhodey explained. “But never in public. Who drew that?”

“Cappy-Cap,” Tony said absently, staring at himself in the book. Steve made a small noise like a mouse getting squashed.

Rhodey chuckled hoarsely. “Welcome to the family, Cap, you got a nickname and the Secret Tony Smile.” Steve made the same sound again.

“Was I the only one who didn’t know I had a secret smile or something?” Tony demanded, glancing up and then pausing. Rhodey had a look on his face, all soft and gooshy like a s’more marshmallow. “What?”

“Not denying Cap’s part of the family?” Rhodey said, and he sounded fond, oh, no, Clint was totally right. Fuck.

“Shut up,” Tony grumbled. “I’m trying to get used to my own face over here.”

Steve blinked up at him, cheek still pressed into the cushion. “It’s a nice face.”

“Yeah?” Tony asked, trying to play it off casually.

“Yeah,” Steve said, smiling, and oh, shit, that did many things to Tony’s ability to breathe.

“Ooookay. I’m just gonna sign off now,” Rhodey said, and Tony blew him a kiss absently as the video turned off.

Steve shifted with a slight groan. “Ugh. What time is it?”

“Morning?” Tony hazarded, glancing at the windows.

“Eight o’clock, Captain,” JARVIS said helpfully.

“Oh, that’s not so bad,” Steve said, and unfolded from the chair, standing and stretching. Tony paused. Oh, he hoped JARVIS had that on video. He really hoped. “What’s your plan, Stark? Breakfast?”

“Sure,” Tony said, staring at Steve’s skin where his shirt rode up.

“Hen fruit and toast,” Steve muttered. “Sam’s cooking…”

“What the fuck is hen fruit,” Tony said. Steve scrubbed through his own hair, all of it standing in spikes.

“Eggs.”

“Right,” Tony said, frowning. “No, not right, gross. _Hen fruit?_ What even, Steven.”

“Was that supposed to rhyme?” Cap raised an eyebrow at him. Tony grinned and bounced on his toes.

“I want a shower,” he announced. “And then I am having regular fruit, not fucking hen fruit. And toast and whatever else Sam makes, assuming you’re not helping.”

“I’m doing the dishes, probably,” Steve admitted, “Sam doesn’t let me cook.” He looked bashful. Precious.

“Good for him. You gonna shower with me or —” Tony teased, and had the pleasure of watching Steve go bright pink.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll just. Go?” Steve stuttered, “I’ll meet you in the, um, common room, yeah.” He was headed for the door, backing up, and Tony grinned, tossing him his sketchbook. Steve caught it easily and bolted.

Dammit. Cute.

Tony showered and changed, tossing on a t-shirt and some dark jeans that showed off his ass, then paused and grabbed a leather jacket. He had an image to maintain, after all. He rummaged his wallet and new Asgardian toy out of the pockets of his old pants, distractedly heading to breakfast as he fiddled with it.

He felt like it was right there, the answer was _so close_. What was he missing?

“Stark, you having eggs? Rogers says no.” Sam was cooking, Steve next to him, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Tony looked up. Oh. He was in the common room now. Good job, feet. “No eggs,” he said. “Bacon?”

“Bacon,” Sam agreed, amused. “How’s your puzzle?”

Tony grumbled. “I’m missing something obvious.”

Thor grinned from his spot at the kitchen island. “I am sure you will reason it out.”

Clint was on top of the liquor cabinet, on the little purple perch Tony had put on top. How he’d gotten up there with the cast, Tony didn’t know. Where did he get a Hawkeye sippy cup?

Tony wanted an Iron Man sippy cup. Shaped like a rocket ship. He could design that. It’d be a best seller.

Clint kicked his feet, cast thumping against the shelf. “I have a question.” He raised his hand. Tony raised his eyebrows in return, and Clint asked, “Can we do our Thor-debrief — our Thor pantsing — Thansing — in here and not in a boring-ass conference room?”

“My conference rooms are — okay so they are boring, but only because Pepper insists,” Tony conceded, back to his toy. So close.

“They’re professional,” Pepper said from the sofa where she was cuddled with Natalie. “And nobody’s forcing you to use them, use the movie lounge.”

“Point to Pepper, all hail,” Tony said dryly, twisting the puzzle again and then abruptly losing his patience. Who designed this shit? Loki, probably. He hefted the toy and grumpily tossed it at Captain America. Cap caught it easily.

“Here, you know more about my face, figure that out,” he grouched, sitting next to Thor, whose eyes were following Steve. Steve blinked at the toy.

“I — well if you do this,” Cap said, and twisted, and then he wasn’t there anymore.

Tony yelped. There was a crashing noise behind him and then Clint groaning before hysterical giggles. Bucky was frozen where he was — sitting on the bar counter — eyes going between Clint and where Cap had been. Tony hadn’t even noticed him before. Assassins.

Thor blinked and leaned over the island, apparently concerned but not disturbed. “Captain?”

Tony was on the verge of a full-blown panic before there was a noise he least expected. A low _boof_ , and then Sam Wilson cracking into hysterics. A — tail? — appeared on the other side of the island, wagging.

“да иди ты,” Bucky said, and his voice was hoarse. The tail wagged its way over to where Clint was on the floor, and Tony got his first glimpse of the giant dog. Clint burst into pained giggles.

“I told you he was an — ow — golden retriever,” Clint said, ruffling the dog’s fur, and Tony’s stunned brain slowly started to process that the dog was _Steve_.

Bucky seemed to have come to the same conclusion as Steve _boof_ ed at Clint, then began to cover him in slobbery licks. Clint squealed, groaned, and then snickered as he scrubbed dog-Steve’s sides, apparently not at all concerned about the fact that the dog was Captain America.

“Thor,” Bucky said. His voice was calm but his metal hand was halfway through the wooden counter. “Why is my best friend now a dog?”

Thor looked vaguely amused. “When one finishes the puzzle, the reward is the visage of a dog, until the spell is broken.”

“Right,” Tony said, still too shocked to think much. “And how do we break the spell?”

“You give him something old, worn, and unmatched.” Thor was smiling.

“Does it hurt him?” Tony looked behind him to see Natalie scrunching her nose in bewilderment, both women turned to peer over the sofa.

“No,” Thor said. “It is most relaxing. That is why it is a reward.”

The elevator went off to show Bruce, scanning the room, slightly pale. Tony turned to him.

“You saw?” he asked, and Bruce nodded before Cap-dog gave another bark and raced to Bruce, nearly knocking him over before winding himself around Bruce’s legs like so much tripping hazard.

“Oh — hi?” Bruce said, and Steve barked again before leaning into Bruce’s automatic pets. “Um. Yes. I didn’t expect an enthusiastic greeting.” Cap’s reply was a whine and a stronger lean against Bruce’s legs, if Bruce’s stumble was any indication.

Bruce looked up at Thor. “It really doesn’t hurt him?”

“Not at all,” Thor said earnestly, catching on to the tension in the room. “Truly. It is like… a long bath, or a nap, but for one’s… ᚻᚢᛄ.”

“The modern closest Norse can be vaguely translated to _soul_ ,” JARVIS supplied, and Tony blinked.

“Yes,” Thor considered. “That is close enough.”

“So it’s like a… mental massage,” Bruce concluded, and then got distracted by Steve catching sight of Bucky and racing back across the room to put both giant paws on Bucky’s chest and lick all over his face. Bucky made an undignified wheezing sound, bracing himself on the bar, more of it cracking off under the metal hand.

“Hi yourself, punk,” he managed, tilting his head back to try to avoid getting dog-tongue-in-the-mouth. “Hey, yeah, I see you.” One hand began petting Steve. That seemed to be the automatic reaction when faced with Cap-dog.

Steve made an indecipherable doggy noise and went back to four legs, mashing his entire doggy muzzle into Bucky’s groin enthusiastically, and Bucky squawked indignantly. A moment later he was on top of the bar counter, boots and all, frowning down at Steve. “No, absolutely not, you Дурачок.”

Natalie burst into giggles, which was almost as disconcerting as what had just happened. “Doggie instinct. He likes your scent,” she told Bucky, who glared down at the now whimpering dog.

“Well, he can have it from literally anywhere else,” he grumbled, “I am not doing that in public.”

“So you’d do it in private?” asked Clint, grinning, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“He’s not _human_ , so no.”

“But if he were human,” Clint pressed, and then grunted as he sat up, bracing himself and taking a few deep breaths. Steve wandered over, tail slowly wagging again as he sniffed Clint.

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky conceded. “Maybe? What are we even talking about? Thor — what did you say we need to turn him back?”

“Something old, worn, and unmatched,” Thor repeated easily. Steve bounded over to him, hopping two legs to Thor’s knees and slobbering over his neck and face greedily.

Tony was starting to feel left out.

Thor scrubbed giant hands up and down Steve’s sides. Sam was catching his breath.

“Oh, god. What is my life,” he gasped, clutching his ribs. “What even do I do with this. Nobody trains you for this shit.”

Clint groaned as he shifted. “Tell me about it,” he said wryly. “This is weirder than the circus.”

Steve wandered over to Sam and scrubbed hard against his legs, twining around them, and Sam swore. “You’re doing that on purpose. I know you’re doing that on purpose. Bruce is spotless and now I have hair all over my goddamn pants.”

Tony bit his lower lip, trying not to snicker, but Steve’s ears perked at the tiny noise that escaped, and then he was peeking from between Sam’s ankles, eyes big and doggy and round.

“Oh, now you notice me,” he huffed. “Thought you were ignoring me.” Cap-dog whined, and shuffled back a little. Bucky snorted.

“No, I know that face. He wants _petting_.”

Tony rolled his eyes at the innuendo, but Bucky hopped off the counter. “No, seriously,” he said, straightening from the crouch he landed in. Clint made a choked noise – no wonder, he was at eye-level with Bucky’s ass. “He wants you to pet him, he’s being shy.”

“The Captain is shy?” Thor asked, confusion etching his features, and Bucky snorted.

“Only when he really wants someone to like him. Get out here, floofball.”

Steve slunk out to slouch next to Bucky. Bucky smiled, patted his head, and then told Tony, “Go on, pet him.”

Tony raised his eyebrows at Steve, who peered out from his slouch. “Right. If you don’t want to be touched, please just run, don’t bite my hand off,” he said wryly, and reached to stroke a soft doggy ear.

When he caught up to what had just happened, he was on his back on the floor, covered with squirming happy Dog-Cap, who was covering his entire face in — “Oh, gross, Steve, ew, this is why I have robots, not animals, c’mon, I just took a shower,” he pleaded, as Steve rubbed and licked. Tony paused and then began to snicker.

Bucky grinned down at him. “What’s that smile for?”

“J,” Tony said, laughing still, “J, tell me you have this on video.”

“Sir. Surely you don’t think so little of me that I would _miss_ this,” JARVIS said primly. Tony loved him.

“You’re the best, J,” he gasped from beneath all the fur and dog and Steve.

“Thank you, sir,” JARVIS replied, and Tony relaxed under Steve, still laughing in bits. Cap-dog seemed pleased about this, settling on top of him with a vaguely possessive, pleased huff.

Pepper walked into Tony’s field of view, her lips twisting slightly. “Well,” she said, and then paused, and stepped over to Thor, kissing his cheek.

“I’m counting on you to have him human by this evening, dear. Make sure they don’t cause too much trouble,” she said fondly, but with authority. Thor straightened in response, beaming.

“Of course, Miss Pepper,” he agreed. Tony loved Pepper. The woman could order gods about and have them listen. Incredible. He hoped Natalie was watching. Pepper smiled and nodded at Thor before looking around.

“Have fun, be safe. I’ve got meetings but keep me in the loop,” she said, and there were a chorus of “Yes, Miss Pepper” from around the room before she left.

Steve licked his chin, and Tony glanced down at him. “Hey,” he said softly. Dogs had good hearing, right? And Steve had super-hearing already. They’d probably been blowing out his little doggie eardrums. Ouch. “You okay in there?” A firm wag and another lick to his cheek. “Okay.”

“I think I twisted my ankle. Also, I vote we call Darcy and show her Cap-dog,” Clint said, wincing. He was on his knees, apparently unable to stand.

“Right,” Bucky said slowly. “Um. If Steve’s not hurt, I’m going to get Clint to the—”

“Nope, no, Nat’ll take me, you are staying here and far away from medical supplies,” Clint said. “You’re doing great, Buck, but that’s gotta be trigger central, don’t lie.”

“And not the sexy kind of trigger,” Sam agreed, amused at them all. “I’ll go with him and Nat, you keep an eye on the Dog with a Plan.”

“Doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Clint complained.

“Dog with a Monologue,” Tony suggested, and Clint pointed at the part of Tony that was not covered in fur.

“Bam. This is why you’re a genius.”

Tony grinned, patting Steve. “C’mon, Shaggy dog, lemme up. I want breakfast.”

“If you call Darcy I want looped in,” Clint said, making an _oof_ noise when Nat picked him up over her shoulder. Tony hid his smile in Steve’s fur. Clint’s complete lack of shame was something to aspire to, considering how he was still happily grinning when Nat and Sam took him to the other elevator.

Bucky looked down at Tony and Steve with a wry twist to his lips. “Look at you two,” he muttered under his breath, and then offered Tony the metal hand, which was very kind of him. Tony made a strangled noise when super-soldier strength and metal heaved him standing and Steve half-fell off him. Bucky grinned, steadying Tony when he was finally upright.

Barnes had really been hiding some hella pecs under those Henleys, if the one under Tony’s face was any indication. Wow. The scans from JARVIS had shown some build but the reality of it was very… in his face. And warm.

Steve-dog boofed at him amiably and nuzzled at his legs, making Tony look down. “Don’t wag at me, you knocked me over,” he told Steve, who just nuzzled his thigh again with a happy whine.

Thor chuckled. “Perhaps,” he said, “I might call the Lady Jane and sister Darcy? They will want to see the Captain. I am sure JARVIS would oblige by letting Clint call in as well, and then you may set about changing him back.”

Bucky gave Thor a narrow-eyed expression. “Wait,” he said, “You gave the toy to Tony.”

Thor nodded, and Tony caught on, eyes going wide. “You were gonna turn me into a dog! Thor! My friend! My battle brother! I trusted you with my life and this is how you repay me?”

Thor grinned at him. “Indeed. I thought it might be good for you to have a mental rest.”

“I am rested,” Tony protested, “I’m full up rested, I am—”

“Steve had to force you into bed last night,” Bucky reminded him, and Tony pouted.

“I’m super at resting,” he insisted, folding his arms. Steve licked his fingers, making him jump. “No ganging up on me!” he protested, but Steve just licked his thumb in response and wagged his tail. Rude.

Bucky paused and looked at Thor again. “But you promise — on — on Lady Jane — that Steve’s okay, and this isn’t permanent.”

Thor’s eyes widened at the mention of Jane, but he nodded firmly. “I do.”

“Right,” Bucky relaxed.

“Hey, no, wait,” Tony said, pointing at Steve and elaborating. “Dog. Here. Doggo, Steven-dog. Dog-Steve. Stog. Deve. Listen, my — He’s a dog.”

“Your what?” Bucky asked, and Tony pouted harder.

“Look, we can’t just leave him like this.”

“Why not? Just for a bit. You trust Thor, and Steve needs a mental break. Besides, he likes being a science experiment.” Bucky’s tone was sharper toward the end, and Steve made a whining noise, tail pausing.

“Steve needs a mental break?” Tony asked, and then paused. Right. New world, 70 years, best friend assassin, aliens. “Oh. Right. Uh. You sure he won’t be pissed at us for making him wait?”

“Are you gonna keep petting him?” Bucky asked, and Tony blinked and looked down to see his hand absently stroking Steve, who was wagging again.

“Uh,” he said, and Bucky grinned.

“You keep that up and he’ll be fine.”

Bruce had been quiet, but now he spoke up, voice wry in Tony’s favorite Bruce-tone. Bruce sometimes decided to do reckless fun things, and every time he got that tone _exactly_. Like the time he was all, “Hey Tony, let’s see who can eat more cake, Cap or Clint,” and then Tony had to order twenty wedding cakes and twelve smaller ones with little Captain Americas on them just to be safe.

That had been a good day until Clint vomited. Where did Steve put it all?

He had the same tone now. “I do think Darcy might be upset if we left her out. So would Jane. Jane likes dimensional things, I’d say this counts. And I want to know if he weighs different.”

“Hey, yeah, did his body mass change?” Tony asked. “If he got smaller where did it go? Is he gonna come back small?”

“Just so long as he doesn’t have asthma, I don’t care,” Bucky said, and Steve _boof_ ed an agreement.

“I dislike distressing my Lady, especially since she is already distressed at the illness of our friend, so I would hate to leave her out,” Thor agreed majestically.

“Right, introduce me to this Jane, then,” Bucky said, and Tony looked at Steve.

“Am I seriously the only one who thinks you should get back to normal ASAP?” he asked Steve quietly. Steve licked his hand and nuzzled. “This is weird,” Tony told the dog, and led the way to the sofa where Bruce was already showing Bucky the video-call system.

The moment Tony sat he was covered in dog, Steve claiming his lap with a contented huff and sprawling. Tony recognized the universal doggy signal for tummy rubs, and obliged automatically, ignoring Bucky’s smirk as he sat next to them both.

Thor grinned as he looked up. “JARVIS,” he requested, and Tony grinned. It had taken a month and a half to get Thor to stop calling JARVIS “Master Jarvis,” and JARVIS had been confused every time, which was hysterical. “Would you please call sister Darcy? - My Lady Jane is not good with accepting calls when she is focused,” he confided to Bucky as an aside. Bucky nodded, shifting to get comfortable on the sofa. Bruce just leaned on the back behind Tony, apparently not wanting to sit down.

Tony subtly leaned over to slump against the metal arm, and Steve snorted, shoving his big doggy muzzle into Bucky’s lap. Bucky rolled his eyes and scrubbed at Steve’s ears as JARVIS informed them, “Calling now,” and the television screen showed three dots blinking. Tony didn’t have a call tone on Stark Video in the tower, because he hated call tones. Obnoxious.

“So how did you meet Darcy?” Bucky asked, and Thor grinned.

“You should ask her, she much loves telling the tale.”

“And Jane?”

“She hit me with her vehicle.”

Bucky blinked and glanced at Tony, who shrugged against his arm. Bucky looked back at Thor, eyes narrowing. “Ri-ight. Does this have to do with how Clint said he met you?”

“And what did he say?” Thor leaned back, one arm spreading over the back of the sofa and over Barnes’ shoulders, knuckles tapping Tony’s head before large fingers scritched his head. Tony leaned into it — he loved when people played with his hair.

“Said he made friends by not shooting people,” Bucky said, and Thor laughed.

“My first months on Midgard were most odd.”

“I’m gathering that,” Bucky said wryly, as the video suddenly flicked on.

“THOR!” Darcy shrieked, and Thor’s hand disappeared from Tony’s hair (unfair, he was going to make a tower rule that Thor had to keep going) as Thor sat up.

“Sister!” he beamed at the video, but Darcy was already looking at Bucky and Cap-Dog.

“DOGGIE! And he-llo, you, Mr. Destroyer Arm. Tell me you’re single and Thor’s set me up with an arranged marriage. I’m up for it, and you get all these titties.”

Tony glanced at Bucky. His eyes were wide as Darcy bounced once, showing off the goods. Maybe he didn’t like Mr. Destroyer Arm as a moniker. Steve was also paused, eyes on Bucky, tail still. Darcy didn’t seem to notice.

“White wedding,” she beamed, “Winter. You bring the booze and the dancing.”

Bucky blinked again and then slowly began to grin. “Doll,” he told the screen, “d’you know how quick I’d have taken you up on that once upon a time?”

“Aw, is that a no, sweet cheeks?”

“Only cause I think Clint thinks of you as a sibling and would get fussy about a threesome,” Bucky told her, and Darcy blinked before shrieking. The view went everywhere as she apparently flailed her arms and forgot the phone was in them.

“JANE! JANE THOR IS ON THE PHONE AND CLINT IS BONING MISTER HOT DUDE!”

“And she remembers me _now_ ,” Thor said wryly.

“Mr. Hot Dude,” Bucky said, preening.

“She didn’t even say hi,” Tony pouted. Steve was wagging hard.

“Who is Mister Hot Dude?” a voice said, and the video stabilized somewhat to show Jane with Darcy bouncing next to her.

“Him, look, him, he’s gorgeous,” Darcy said, and Jane peered at the screen.

“Hold it _still_ ,” she said, and then grinned at them. The video went still. “Hello, dear! He _is_ very hot,” she teased Darcy, who pouted.

“Not your boy-toy, Mister Sexy Biceps!”

“Stark?” Jane teased. “I mean, I can’t really argue.”

Tony grinned and flexed. Bucky blinked at him and whistled under his breath. Huh. Tony hadn’t been aware that could make him blush. Learning new things.

“And there’s a dog!” Jane dismissed the men to focus on Steve, who perked up.

“Whose dog?” Darcy asked, and Thor grinned.

“Wait. We must put Barton on.”

“J? Loop Barton in?” Tony shifted slightly, thigh shifting to press against Bucky’s. Warm.

“Yes, Sir,” JARVIS said, and the screen split a moment later to show Clint in a bed, just his upper half.

“How are you holding up, schookums?” Barnes said with a smirk, and Tony blinked in confusion. _Schnookums_? Must have been an inside joke, because Barton lit up.

“Buckaboo! Doctor-Doctor is able to fix my bones!”

“No more cast?” Tony said, pleased. No more Clint on the floor or running over toes. DUM-E behaving for 10 minutes. Maybe.

“No more cast!”

“Who is Doctor-Doctor?” Bucky asked, bewildered.

“My name is Doctor Cho,” a voice said. JARVIS must have turned the camera, because the doctor’s face came into view, patiently smiling. Tony waved, grinning.

He loved Doctor Cho. Science. Also, she was kind to Bruce, which gave her eight billion brownie points. A lot of scientists got freaked out by what happened to Bruce and ended up avoiding him because they couldn’t deal. Wusses.

“Hello Doctor,” Bucky said with a polite nod of his head. “Thank you for taking care of my morons.”

She laughed while Clint protested in the background. “I enjoy a challenge.”

“You must,” Bucky said, face creasing with his chuckle.

Tony had read a fair amount about Bucky Barnes back when he was a kid. He was always in the Cap books his house had been stocked up with. Barnes had been called attractive, sweet, charming. Tony had always hated it. Of course Cap’s best friend would be better than Tony, too. He wasn’t even good enough to be the sidekick.

Now, however, he was starting to see the upside. The upside mostly being sitting next to Bucky when he smiled. He would highly recommend the experience.

“She’s gonna fix my _bones_!” Clint insisted, leaning up onto his elbows. “Bucky! I’m gonna be able to climb you like a _tree!”_

“How many painkillers is he on?” Bucky asked.

“So many,” Natalie said from next to Clint’s bed, making Tony snicker.

Thor thoughtfully tilted his head. “Did he not climb me like a tree yesterday? I do not think his bones stopped him.”

“Wrong bones,” Clint nodded seriously.

“Ah,” Thor nodded. “Intimate congress is much easier without wounds.”

Sam’s voice made a squeaking noise as Darcy grinned. “Thor, you’re my favorite,” she told him fondly.

Thor beamed at her. “And I am most fond of you, my sister.”

“Anyway explain the dog,” she demanded, and the camera bounced slightly with her excitement.

“CAPDOG!” Clint cried, flailing, before his face shifted to the wistful look of the happily doped up. “I love him,” he whispered. 

“Cap-Dog?” Jane questioned with a tilt of her head. Steve thumped his tail, lifting his head to look at the screen. Darcy’s expression was a slowly filling bathtub of glee, until it overflowed with a squeal.

“IT’S STEVE?!”

Steve’s tail was now going like a helicopter as he panted happily. Tony couldn’t help his dopey expression; fucking cute. Darcy was losing her shit.

“Oh my god it’s _Steve_ look at you! Look at you! Who’s the best boy!? You are! You’re the best boy! Oh my god Captain America is a dog I love him. Clint. Clint I love him.”

“He is the _best boy_ ,” Clint agreed, in the universal doggie tone.  Tony glanced down at Steve, who was perked up on his lap, ears alert as he grinned at the world.

Maybe they didn’t tell Cap how much they liked him enough. Steve’s doggie face was lit up like a child getting a surprise party. Tony didn’t think he’d ever seen that face on Steve as a human.

The realization made his head ache. Cap had put a lot of effort into making sure they all felt like they were on a team, occasionally sending Tony update emails even when he was living on SHIELD’s dime in D.C. Tony hadn’t really put that much effort into responding, telling himself Steve just did it out of obligation.

He knew better now.

At least Steve had felt like he could come to Tony after the HYDRA meltdown. Tony was a little miffed that Natalie had been the one to call during it, and then only to ask for the chips to hack the helicarriers. He supposed Steve had been busy.

He was absentmindedly stroking Cap-dog again, and therefore was taken off-guard when he got a stripe licked up his cheek. “Hey,” he grumbled, “wet.”

Tony was outnumbered by both Clint and Darcy cooing “Awww,” at them through the screen. Steve just nuzzled his neck. Tony definitely didn’t squeak.

“Cold!” Cold nose cold nose cold nose tickle spot – “Augh!”

Oh, that was definitely a doggie snicker.

“Fuck you, it’s on,” Tony growled, and then yes, he was wrestling a 200-pound dog into submission, he knew Steve must have a – ha!

“Huh,” Bucky said, looking down at them both on the floor. “So all dogs have that spot.”

Steve-dog gave him a betrayed glance as he panted, back leg spasming uncontrollably as Tony scritched that spot on his belly.

Jane was staring at them over the computer screen. “How does that work?” she asked.

“Right?” Bruce said. “Where does the mass go?”

“If he turns back, does he keep the mass that was turned into hair?” Dr Cho asked. “Hair is dead, that’s a lot of mass lost to fur.”

“Bucky, you might get a skinny Steve back,” Clint said, eyes wide.

“Huh,” Sam’s face went vacant before he shook his head. “Can’t picture him without the pecs.”

“Wait wait wait,” Darcy said, interrupting them all. “Hang on. _How.”_

Bucky, Bruce, and Tony all silently pointed at Thor, who just beamed patiently at them all.

“Sweetheart,” Jane said, and Thor shrugged.

“It’s an Asgardian toy, I did not think it was important.”

“I need a user’s manual and complete explanation,” she said. Thor chuckled.

“I want a copy,” Bruce said.

“Same—” “Me too—” Tony and Doctor Cho overlapped.

“What is that smell?” Bucky asked, wrinkling his nose, and Bruce looked over his shoulder.

“Well, shit,” he said, in his patently calm ‘I am Bruce Banner and Cannot Be Flustered’ tone. “We forgot about breakfast.”

“Aw, bacon, no,” Clint whined. Natalie patted his head.

“You couldn’t have had it on those meds anyway. They make you nauseous, remember?”

“Bacon is worth it,” Clint told her, eyes wide and earnest. 

Bruce wandered over to put out the fire. Tony glanced at Steve, who tilted his head. “Not oversensitive to smell, then?” he asked.

He got the doggie equivalent of a shrug, which fascinated him and all the other scientists in the room. “Maybe the serum already got him used to strong scents?” Doctor Cho hypothesized.

See? Tony loved her.

Bucky had his nose wrinkled adorably. Hydra had been stupid as hell, covering that up with a mask. Everyone knew Hydra was dumb, but sometimes Tony just had to re-emphasize it in his brain. “It does make smell stronger. Now I’m starving.”

“I can order breakfast,” Tony offered, and Steve _woof_ ed in his ear. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, wincing. “Loud.” Steve licked his chin in apology.

“Right. We should probably eat, too,” Jane said.

“Strawberry pop tarts!” Darcy cheered, and Thor laughed.

“A meal fit for the gods.”

“He makes god puns. Thor. Makes god puns,” Bucky muttered under his breath in disbelief, making Tony snicker.

“And send me a summary of that toy, Thor!” Jane ordered. “I’m hardly the only one who’d be interested.”

“Yes, my love,” Thor nodded, eyes crinkling. The women turned away.

“I bet Agent Co—” the video cut off Darcy’s sentence. Tony blinked at the ceiling, wondering if he’d heard wrong, then glanced at the screen showing the infirmary. Clint looked pale.

“Did anyone else hear that?” Natalie said, forcibly calm.

“Yep,” Tony and Clint answered.

“Do you think we should—” she broke off, looking, for once, completely at a loss.

“May I suggest,” JARVIS’ voice said delicately, “a remote security system for Miss Lewis and Doctor Foster? Perhaps with a version of myself installed?”

Tony glanced around. Bucky looked confused, but the others all looked as upset as he was. Bruce had just shoved the whole burned pan in the trash, and Tony knew he would never throw away kitchenware that he thought he could just clean, which meant he was taking out his upset on the pan. Good job, Bruce, the Hulk would bang his head on the kitchen lights.

“Would you mind just… ordering a StarkSecure set and downloading yourself to the mainframe, J?” Tony asked. “Send them a message asking if they’re good with it? And, ah, maybe evening updates?”

Thor was quiet. “Perhaps I should go and check on them.”

“I will send a message now, Sir. Transport could be arranged, if you wish, Master Thor.”

Steve whined. The room looked at him, and Thor hummed.

“Yes. Perhaps we should make sure you’re back to human first,” he said, leaning over to scrub Steve’s head.

Wagging once, Steve got to his feet and nudged Tony, who sighed and sat up. “Right. Real life is calling,” he said wryly.

“I hate real life,” Clint mumbled softly. Natalie patted his head before ending the video call.

“Right. How do we get Steve back?” Tony asked. “And send up bagels with the works, J.”

“Something old, worn, and unmatched,” Thor recited.

“Okay. Which is?”

Thor side-eyed him hard. “It is a puzzle, Stark; if I tell you the answer –”

“He doesn’t turn back?”

“Not until you find another answer to the riddle,” Thor shrugged.

“Great,” Tony sighed and buried his face in Steve’s fur.  Steve leaned into it.

“We’re two of the sharpest minds on the planet,” Bruce said dryly. “We’ll figure it out.”

 

* * *

 

“Oh my god I can’t figure this out,” Tony groaned, head in his hands. Steve licked over the back of them encouragingly.

“I hate riddles,” Bruce mumbled from his spot on the floor, surrounded by various random objects.

Thor didn’t even look distressed – more amused than anything else. Tony hated that expression now.

Bucky frowned. “Car. You got a car?”

 

* * *

 

“Sir,” said JARVIS, as Tony gripped the ‘oh shit’ handle in his own car goddamnit, who taught Bucky how to drive, probably Nazis, what the hell – “you’ve made Twitter.”

“Okay,” Tony gasped, as Bucky swore at a NY driver with pure Brooklyn rage.

The screen on the dash shifted to show Bucky screeching up to a yard sale, metal arm flashing in the sunlight, Tony and Bruce pale in the seats as a dog licked furiously at Bucky’s hair until he elbowed him off and yelled, “I’m GETTING the spell reversed, goddamnit Stevie!”

“It has 150K likes and counting, sir,” JARVIS said helpfully.

“I think people know I’m housing the Winter Soldier now,” Tony said shakily, and then scrambled at the glovebox for an anti-carsickness pill.

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean dogs aren’t allowed, it’s a flea market!” Tony protested.

“Besides, he’s not even technically a dog, he’s Captain America,” Bruce added wryly.

The security guard looked blankly back at them before reaching for his radio, which was suddenly not clipped to his belt and instead in many pieces on the ground.

“I’m a vet who went through _many, many years_ of torture as a POW,” Bucky said, with terrifying calm. “He’s my service dog.”

The security guard looked at him, wide-eyed, and then at the metal hand that had crushed his radio, and then at the giant golden retriever wagging happily at him.

“Have a good time at the market, sir.”

“Thank you,” Bucky replied, and headed in.

 

* * *

 

“A boot,” Tony said, staring at naked Steve in the back of his car, and then very panickily not staring at him, and then, unable to keep his eyes away, staring at him again.

“A boot,” Bruce confirmed, exhaustion in his voice.

“Most Asgardian children end up using unmated socks,” Thor said placidly.

Bucky was snickering hard, and Tony glanced over. “What?”

“I read to. Calm myself down. When I was. On the run,” Bucky said between gasping giggles.

“Yeah?” Steve blinked over at him, fondness written all over his perfect face, apparently completely fine with being naked in Tony’s backseat, crammed between Thor and Bucky.

Bucky lost the battle to laughter, cracking himself up. “Master has given Dobby a sock, Dobby is _free_!” he howled, and Tony stared at them all as Bruce carefully pulled over the car, letting his head thump forward to rest against the steering wheel.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Credit where credit is due.](https://twitter.com/lizhackett/status/593817128790167552?lang=en)


	17. Chapter 17

Steve fell asleep on Bucky’s shoulder on the way home, because he was an energetic dope as both a dog and a human and had worn himself out. Bucky had swung an arm around his ribs and helped Thor lug Steve up to the floor he shared with Sam. Steve was currently wearing nothing but Tony’s jacket as a sort of kilt. Hilarious.

Sam rolled his eyes when he let them in, showing Thor the way to Steve’s room so they could plop him onto the mattress. Tony wandered in behind them, complaining about how he could never wear his jacket again because it had touched Steve’s behind.

Bucky didn’t think it was his behind that Tony was concerned about, considering where he kept glancing.

“You going to hang out?” Sam asked.

“I’m going to check on Clint,” Bucky decided, wondering if Clint was still loopy or not.

“I was going to ask Stark – if you don’t mind – about the security for Lady Jane?” Thor said, turning to Tony mid-sentence.

Tony clapped a giant bicep with one hand, leading Thor out. “C’mon, we’ll have a chat with JARVIS and see what he’s got set up,” he said. Sam huffed.

“Right. I’ll just keep an eye on our boy, here,” he said wryly. Bucky smirked at him, and Sam raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “Nice job trending on Twitter.”

Bucky just winked at him. Sam groaned.

“Go on, out of my place, go check on your _schnookums_ ,” he said with obviously fake exasperation. Bucky liked him. He lifted a finger as he got on the elevator, and Sam returned it with a fond scowl.

When asked to take him to Clint, JARVIS let him off on Clint’s floor. Bucky hadn’t been on Clint’s floor previously, and wasn’t sure about inviting himself, but he stepped out when the doors opened.

Very purple.

The grin from Natalia and the “BUCKARITO!” from Clint assured him he was welcome. He rolled his eyes and headed over to Clint’s sofa, where he was laid out like so many floppy noodles.

Clint was looking up at Natalia. His head was in her lap. Apparently, Bucky had interrupted an important diatribe because Clint was obviously continuing a rant. “…and there are ones with floppy ears. And ones with pointy ears. And ones with _spots_. Natasha. Nat. They have. Little spots. Sometimes the spots are on their _noses!_ ”

Natalia grinned at him, and then glanced up at Bucky. “James,” she said fondly, “is going to take over now, Clint. James, I hope you enjoy hearing all the best qualities of dogs.”

“I _love them_ ,” Clint said seriously, looking up at Bucky, who couldn’t help smiling.

“I see,” Bucky replied, then kissed Natalia’s forehead before smoothly trading spots, gently lowering Clint’s head to his lap. “Have a good evening, Natalia.”

“Take care of my Дротик,” she said, and he nodded seriously. Clint beamed at them both.

“I’m the _best_ Дротик,” he announced, and Natalia stroked his hair once, amused, before leaving silently. Bucky watched her go before looking down at Clint. He was tracing Bucky’s jawline with a lazy unsteady finger, grinning, as slap-happy as any man who’d recently gotten cozy with the opiate bottle.

“You okay there, bud?” Bucky asked, and Clint’s face brightened further. Bucky hadn’t thought that was even possible, let alone as a response to him.

“I’m in your lap.”

“You sure are, pal.”

“It’s such a good lap.”

“I tend to think so.”

“Steve said you were awesome. But you’re even more awesome than Steve said. So many awesomes, Bucky.”

Bucky blinked. “How many awesomes.”

“At least—” Clint scrunched up his face, giving this serious thought. “Six thousand.”

“That’s a lot of awesomes, kid.”

“Uh-huh. Steve is normally right but this time he was wrong.” Clint paused, frowning. “Steve’s a dog now.”

“Not anymore. We made him human again.”

“Aw, Cap-dog, no.” Clint welled up, staring up at Bucky. “Bucky, fix it.”

JARVIS piped up, which was good, because Bucky had been on the verge of drastic action – he wasn’t sure what – anything to get Clint to stop making that face. “Mr. Barton, I believe you own your own canine companion. I could contact your associate Ms. Bishop to bring him here.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a dog,” Bucky said, wanting Clint to focus on anything but the loss of Steve-dog.

“Lucky,” Clint said, back to beaming, thank fuck. “He’s a dumbass. Pizza dog.”

“Right,” Bucky said, raising an eyebrow.

“Steve and Lucky can be friends.”

“I’m sure they will be,” Bucky assured him.

“Steve needs friends,” Clint insisted, sloppily pawing at Bucky’s shoulder. “He’s all noble and alone and that’s all _wrong_ Bucky.”

“I could not agree more,” Bucky said wryly, stroking Clint’s hair.

Clint beamed up at him. “I’m glad he has you. And you him. ‘s good. He needs it, he’s a grumpapuss without smooches. And he won’t let anybody smooch him. Not even Tony. It’s a work in process.”

“Progress,” Bucky corrected. Clint nodded.

“I mean it’s progressing, I think? I try.”

“Oh?”

Clint whined, squirming with frustration. “They’re so stupid, Bucky. So stupid.”

Clint wasn’t wrong; Tony and Steve kept making heart-eyes at each other. Bucky approved. Tony seemed decent, from what Bucky could see. He’d had briefings, as the Soldier, and done his own research before coming to the tower: reformed genius using his brilliance and billions for good. And Steve – Steve needed someone who thought like a civilian, not a soldier. Somewhere to come home from the fight. Tony was good for that.

Not to mention that they looked at each other like the other hung the sun.

Bucky watched Clint with undisguised amusement, pointing out the single flaw in Clint’s logic:  “I thought you said you were glad I was here for Steve a second ago, pal, but your head is in _my_ lap and now you’re trying to set Steve up with another fella.”

Clint looked up at Bucky, eyes wide. “Oh. Oh no. Is that bad? I don’t mind sharing. But if you do —” He whimpered, sounding more like a dog than Stevie had. “Aw, I’m way less cool than Steve.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “You think I’d leave you for Steve?”

“I’d leave me for Steve,” Clint replied, frowning as he focused on considering it, then snickering to himself dazedly. “I bet he has the biggest— sense of freedom.”

“A huge sense of freedom. Just gigantic,” Bucky agreed dryly, letting his nails scratch lightly at Clint’s scalp. Clint’s toes curled against the suede of the sofa cushion. “Tell me about the sharing bit.”

Clint blinked at him. “I got married once,” he said. “It was a bad time.”

“Oh?” Bucky hummed. He hadn’t known. He couldn’t imagine Clint married. Did he go to the altar in a suit? Bucky would put money on every suit Clint owned having bullet holes in it.

“Yeah. She was great. Like honestly the best. I mean, nearly the best. Not you or Nat or like — okay, so she was great for a SHIELD agent that wasn’t Hydra. But I was terrible, Buck, I was the _worst husband_ _.”_

Didn’t sound like Clint. Clint was approximately 982% better than the best Hydra handlers. Though perhaps that was the wrong metric for this scenario.

“That bad?”

“The worst. I’m terrible at monogamy, Bucky, I’m awful at it, I fall in love with everyone who smiles at me and if they _keep_ smiling I _stay_ in love and then I’m all stupid. I didn’t cheat! I didn’t cheat.” He held up an insistent hand, which toppled unsteadily mid-air. “But I couldn’t hide it either. And that made her upset, which made me panic, which made her stop smiling, and then I just felt terrible — I was the worst husband.”

Oh. Was that all. As if Bucky would be upset if Clint loved too many people. As if watching Clint be kind to others did anything but make him feel safer, knowing Clint had a heart big enough to fit him in it.

Bucky hummed, smiling a little as he took the hand in the air, lowering it gently to Clint’s chest and keeping hold of it, metal and skin. “I don’t know. I think a man with a big heart is just as sexy as a man with a big sense of freedom.”

Clint blinked up at him. “You do?”

Bucky chuckled and let his nails do the scratch again. Clint melted, which was very satisfying. “I do.”

“Oh,” Clint said shakily. “Are you gonna smooch Cap? Cause he needs smooches, Buck.”

Bucky paused. Kissing Stevie, huh. An image he’d been fighting off since, what, sixteen and saving a skinny punk from three assholes trying to tear apart his sketchbook. Always the same answer to that question. “I — I don’t know.”

Clint frowned.

“Why?”

“Dunno if he wants me to.” Bucky shrugged. Clint stared at him like he was stupid.

“Bucky. Bucky. Bucky.” He struggled to sit up, but Bucky gently pressed him back down. Clint sagged back into his lap as he protested. “Bucky, he wants kisses, Buck.”

“Why don’t _you_ kiss him, then? Make sure he’s taken care of.” Bucky raised his eyebrows. Clint and Steve were friends, why not?

Clint whined. “He likes Tonyyyyy,” – well no shit, Bucky wasn’t blind – “and you, and not me.” Bullshit.

“Not you, huh?” Bucky asked. “Just everybody else?”

“No, not everybody else. You and Tony,” Clint huffed, clumsily trying to fold his arms and missing so he just hugged himself awkwardly. Adorable. “He’s all heart-eyes at Tony and talks about you all the time forever.”

“Forever?” Bucky said, amused. He was so very high; Bucky couldn’t help it.

Clint huffed.

“You’re not listening to me.”

“Oh, I am, you’re just adorable when you wanna watch me kissin’ somebody,” Bucky teased. Also, if he took this conversation too seriously, he’d get his hopes up, and that would be unfortunate if this turned out to be nothing but morphine-induced rambling.

Clint went bright red, then half-choked when Bucky’s fingers managed to get the spot near his nape. “I don’t — okay I do want — but I — not cause —”

Bucky shut him up with a smooch on the lips, curling down to him. “I know,” he assured him gently.

“Oh, okay. Good.” Clint relaxed, utterly trusting. Bucky didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this, but he was going to do it again as often as possible as soon as he figured it out.

“You gonna be my man Friday? Get me a date with Stevie?” Seeing as Bucky had never managed it, maybe Clint could. Clint was already a miracle in several ways, why not this one?

Clint’s eyes widened. “Can I dress you up?” he asked.

“No.” Dear god, no.

“Can I get Nat to dress you up?”

Bucky considered. “Yes.”

“You’re the best.”

“I know.” Bucky chuckled, squeezing Clint’s hand. The future had a lot of shitty parts, but it had brought him this dopey yahoo. Bucky was one lucky sonuvabitch. “And I have the best guy as my best guy.”

Clint turned pink. “Shut up.”

Absolutely not.

“Nope. I think you’re the best. Handsome as hell and pretty to boot. Look at those eyes.”

Clint closed them, burying his face in Bucky’s stomach. “Awwwwwwww——”

“Just the sweetest bit of sugar, pal,” Bucky continued, unable to stop grinning. “Not keepin’ me rationed, wantin’ to help me make some sweet, sweet American apple pie.” Ha. Steve jokes.

“Aw, innuendo, no,” Clint said, muffled by Bucky’s shirt. Bucky burst into laughter.

Clint pouted up at him when Bucky was down to wheezing. Bucky groaned quietly, abs slightly sore and shoulder aching. Worth it. He shifted to gently tug one of the spikes of Clint’s hair. “You make the future a lot better,” he said fondly.

“Oh.” Clint went pink, and squirmed a little. “Thanks.”

“Naw, I’m the person who’s doing the thanking,” Bucky corrected, and then had mercy on Clint’s blushing discomfort and changed the subject. “I liked Darcy. She offered to marry me.”

Clint snickered. “She’s my girl.”

“Like Katie-Kate?” Bucky asked. Clint had gone on a long rant about the brilliance of Katie-Kate back on the second day after they’d met. From what Bucky understood, Katie-Kate was about 8, someday going to be better at shooting things than Clint, had no practical skills whatsoever, and was only allowed to be made fun of by Clint, because everyone else would get shot in the face by two sets of arrows.

Also she was Hawkeye too, which got confusing when Clint told stories sometimes.

“Yes. Only different. Darcy’s my sister from another mister, Kate’s my, uh—”

“Arrow from another bow?” Bucky suggested.

“Yeah. That.”

Bucky paused. “Why did everyone clam up at the bit about an agent?”

Clint went very still. Bad-still. Bucky scanned his face, but Clint shifted quickly, burying it back against his stomach and mumbling, “I’m going to sleep now.”

He sounded miserable. Oh, no. Bucky’d ruined it. And Clint had been so happy, all doped up and silly.

“Hey,” Bucky said gently. Clint stiffened up. Bucky rubbed his back and nape, trying to coax them loose again. “Hey, sweetheart. You know you never have to tell me anything? Never, doll. I won’t be upset.”

“Really?” It was tentative, muffled in Bucky’s shirt. Bucky’s shoulder ached. Clint should never sound like that again, ever, in his whole lifetime. New rule.

“Really,” he promised. “Life’s tough, buddy, and sometimes we just don’t wanna talk about it. That’s a-okay with me.”

Clint nodded slightly. “‘kay. Can I still nap, though?”

“Sure, kid.”

“Will you stay and hold my hand?”

“Yep.”

“And stroke my hair?”

“What kinda boyfriend do you take me for? Some kinda chump?”

Clint peeked up at him, blushing. “No,” he said, almost shyly. Oh. Maybe they hadn’t defined that yet. Oops.

Oh well. Clint looked pretty pleased about it.

“There you go then. Cuddle up and get cozy while your fella strokes your hair,” Bucky ordered. Clint beamed drowsily up at him, curling back against his stomach. Bucky let fingers card through his hair, as promised.

“Can I take these out?” he asked gently, nudging a hearing aid.

Clint paused, and then squirmed closer. “Mhm.”

Very carefully, Bucky slipped them out and turned them off, setting them on the coffee table.

“G’night,” Clint mumbled, clutching Bucky’s shirt in one fist.

“G’night,” Bucky murmured, before leaning back into the sofa, closing his own eyes and taking a rest as he thought.

 _I hate real life,_ Clint had mumbled before the video cut out. Bucky frowned slightly. Clint was… good things. All good things. He deserved better than a life he hated.

Maybe Bucky could work on that.

 

* * *

 

The Avengers alarm went off about an hour later. Bucky didn’t startle, aware of Clint in his lap, but his eyes flew open as he looked around for any possible threat. He’d been monitoring sound while his eyes were closed, but –

“JARVIS?” he questioned, seeing nothing.

“Apologies for the interruption,” the AI replied. “There is a man dressed as a rhino attacking Queens.”

“Shit.” Queens had treated him well, and pajama kid lived there. Bucky looked down at Clint, then carefully slipped out and replaced himself with a pillow for Clint to clutch. “You’ll tell him where I went if he wakes up, right? You got a way to do that with his aids out?”

“Of course,” JARVIS replied.

Bucky headed down the stairwell, taking it two floors at a time through the central shaft and catching himself on the handrail to stop the fall.

“Hey JARVIS,” he said, mid fall, before grunting and catching himself, then dropping again. “How come you don’t call me by name?”

“My apologies,” JARVIS said, sounding mildly bashful. Bucky wondered how he did that. “I do not know what form of formal address you prefer, and I did not wish to offend by bringing up uncomfortable memories.”

Bucky’s eyebrows pulled together as he considered, still dropping until he swung off on the floor with his gear. “How about Sentry? Sentry Barnes,” he tested it out. _Sergeant_ held too many memories. _Soldier_ was right out. _Sentry_ was… similar.

“As in guard of the tower, Sentry Barnes?”

Bucky scoffed, tugging on pink sequins. “As in guard of Steve’s back, probably,” he muttered, “he never watches his left flank. But yeah, like that.”

“Most acceptable, Sentry Barnes,” JARVIS approved, and the corner of Bucky’s lips twitched upward without permission. He fucking liked JARVIS.

He pulled on the comm and switched it on. “ _– not a rhino costume?”_ Steve’s voice.

 _“No, it’s apparently some kind of second skin,”_ Tony said, sounding grossed out.

“Where are you all?” Bucky asked, grabbing the elephant tranq gun. It seemed appropriate.

 _“We’re still in the Tower,”_ Steve said wryly.

“Why aren’t you out there?” Bucky asked, frowning as he politely bypassed Barton’s security system for the hoverbike, explaining off-coms to JARVIS that Clint wouldn’t mind.

 _“Spiderman’s already got it,”_ Tony said. “ _It’s just one guy, it seems under control.”_

“He is a _kid!_ In _pajamas!_ ” Bucky protested, already revving out of the garage.

“ _He’s doing okay,_ ” Steve said, and Bucky growled.

“A _child_ , Steven!”

“ _Wait,_ ” Banner’s voice cut in. “ _You mean that literally?_ ”

“Yes!” Bucky said in exasperation. “His voice cracks!”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Natalia said, and Bucky huffed.

“I’ve got it,” he said. “You go to Clint, he’s drooling on a pillow.”

“ _Understood,_ ” Natalia said, as Steve sputtered in the background.

“— _I can be there in—”_

“You by a window?” Bucky interrupted, considering how to get up to him.

“ _Yes?_ ” Steve said hesitantly.

 “ _I got Cap, Barnes, you get the kiddo away from the rampaging horny guy. That is inappropriate for children,_ ” Tony said wryly. Great, Bucky didn’t need to do a pickup.

“ _You’re inappropriate for children,_ ” Banner groaned. Bucky was rolling his eyes, headed for the destination JARVIS conveniently showed on the hoverbike’s mini-screen.

“ _I will stay with Doctor Banner,_ ” Thor said. “ _If you feel you are in need, I will come._ ”

“Thanks, buddy,” Bucky grunted, turning a corner a little too quickly. He still felt a little nervous around Thor.

Thor had been kind. Very kind, in fact. Bucky had washed dishes last night in near silence, but Thor didn’t seem at all bothered by it, casually giving Bucky space and moving with him whenever he shifted so they wouldn’t touch. Bucky hadn’t even realized he needed that from Thor until he did it.

It had made things easier. Because Bucky knew that he – the Winter Soldier, or what was left of him – was a threat, whether or not Stevie or Clint could see it. He needed someone who was strong enough to put him down. Thor hadn’t even seemed surprised to be asked.

He was just so _big_. Not just physically; his personality was large, filling a room with a genial sort of affection that felt ancient to Bucky.

Maybe that was it. Thor was so old; years and years and years of living packaged in a fondly huge package that didn’t mind Clint bouncing onto his back like a hyperactive bunny. It intimidated Bucky. He’d only lived the seventy-ish years, and half of that asleep, and he already felt so aged. What would it be like to be Thor?

Too much.

But he was very kind, and willing to save Bucky from himself if necessary, and it had been a relief to breathe free with that knowledge. Bucky wanted to give it back, but what do you even give a guy who summoned lightning?

Bucky had the feeling that until he felt like things were square, he’d always have his stomach flip a little around Thor. He’d come up with something.

A red and blue blur swung past the bike. “Hey! It’s PinkiePants!” the kid shouted happily at him. Bucky gave him the best glare he could manage when he was trying to hide a smile. “You comin’ to help me out, new guy?”

“Who are you calling new,” Bucky grumbled at him, “I’m old enough to be your grandfather, kid.”

“Yeah, yeah, hey, wait, does that mean M- does that mean my friend was right? You’re Bucky Barnes?” Web shot from the kid’s wrists – still weird – to another building as they both turned a corner.

“That’s Sentry Barnes to you, kid,” Bucky told him, and the kid nearly swung into the next building before he snapped out of it.

“Holy shit! Holy shit! That’s so cool! Hi Mister Sentry Barnes sir! Wow! And here I thought you were just Smelly Homeless Guy.”

Bucky snorted. “I didn’t stink. No comment on Homeless Guy.”

“Yeah wait, that’s rude. Sorry Mister Sentry Barnes sir.”

“Oh my god,” Bucky grumbled, the rhino man finally in his sights. “Okay, how thick is this guy’s –”

A red white and blue idiot barreled from a side street and tackled rhino man.

This. Moron.

“Is that Captain America?” Kid’s voice actually squeaked at the end of the question.

“That is Captain Stupid of the Idiot Brigade,” Bucky said, growling. Dumbass had ruined his shot – and got himself within whacking distance, what the hell Steve. “Steve you _as- asinine chump_.”

Steve grunted over the comms. Bucky couldn’t even swear at him because there was a _kid_ right there.

Life was _unfair._

They rounded the corner to see Steve get thrown off the rhino-guy, then square up, crouching behind the shield in his signature stance. Bucky snarled behind his mask. He couldn’t get a shot like this; there was a darkened window behind the dick and there could be civilians inside. Between the glare on the glass and the dark tint, he couldn’t tell.

“I need him against a wall, not a window,” he told the team over the comms.

“I mean, I can stick him to the ground and you can loop him,” kid offered.

“That’ll wo—” Bucky began, and then groaned, because Steve had darted to the side, drawing Rhino’s attention.

“ _Now, Buck!”_ he shouted as Rhino charged him, moving in front of a stone building. Bucky swore, hitting the throttle with his knee as he stood to make the shot. He didn’t have an angle – tree in the way – nearly there—

“BUCK COME ON!” he could hear Steve without the comms now, as he saw Steve brace behind his shield, the Rhino nearly on top of him –

Time slowed. Deep breath, pull the trigger, heartbeat. Two forms swooping past him. The pajama kid whimpering, “Cap—”

And then, all at once. The gunshot noise, Rhino crumpling to the ground, and Steve caught by the armpits as Tony and Sam lifted him into the air.

Bucky sat back down on the bike with a giant exhale. Goddammit Steve. The bastard was grinning at him.

“Just like old times!” he shouted over at Bucky. Sam glared and whacked Steve’s helmet with his free hand.

Bucky added Sam to the gift-list, right after Thor, then set the bike down on a rooftop and hopped off, shaking himself to get rid of the jitters still running down his arm.

Pajama kid landed next to him. “Wow,” he said faintly.

“That had better be about my shooting, and not Captain Reckless being a stupidhead,” Bucky said, and the kid perked up to look at him.

“Yes – I mean – yeah, no, of course it was! That was incredible,” he said eagerly, and Bucky felt a little bad about getting on his case. The kid continued, “You know you can say dumbass, right? I’m in high school.”

Bucky glared at him.

“Or… not! Or I will keep my language very age-appropriate Mister Sentry Barnes sir.”

“There you go,” Bucky approved, looking over as Tony and Sam dumped their cargo on the same rooftop. And they did _dump_ him – Steve stumbled and nearly fell before catching his balance, still grinning like a moron.

“Buck! Nice shot!”

“I’m not talking to you, you’re an idiot,” Bucky said dryly, looking down to check over his tranq gun.

“Aw, Buck. I didn’t get hurt,” Steve said. Bucky racked a new tranq dart with a very loud _ch-chink_ noise.

Steve paused where he was, then slumped. Yeah, you know when you’re beaten, chump.

“Sorry, Bucky,” he said, in a tone that nearly erased seventy-six years and turned Bucky into a stuttering sixteen-year-old, glaring at Steve for picking a fight again.

“Yeah? You’re forgiven when you’re less stupid,” he said, echoing himself eerily, before looking up to meet Steve’s eyes. They were shining, and Bucky knew he wasn’t the only one who’d heard the sound of the past. He carefully set the tranq gun against the bike.

Tony landed next to pajama kid, who yelped and leapt in the opposite direction without looking. Bucky snorted, broken out of the moment. Kid was sticking to Steve’s shield, apparently not thinking about it as he whined to Tony, “You scared the shi--shiitake out of me!”

“Shiitake,” Sam muttered, landing next to Bucky, and Bucky huffed a laugh.

Steve shook his shield, the kid moving with it. “How are you _doing_ that?”

Kid yelped a _second_ time and jumped off. “Sorry Mister Captain America!”

“I see it,” Sam muttered to Bucky. Bucky raised an eyebrow. “He’s very adoptable.” Sam pointed at the kid.

“I didn’t adopt him,” Bucky said, and Sam gave him a side-eye. Bucky narrowed his eyes back.

“No, really,” Tony said to kid, faceplate lifting. “How are you doing that?”

Kid looked momentarily frozen before stuttering out, “I – I stick to anything, Mister Stark.”

“Anything?” Tony raised an eyebrow. Kid audibly swallowed before nodding furiously.

“Huh.” Tony paused, then slowly smirked. “Can you stick to Bucky’s arm?”

Kid’s head wheeled to Bucky instantly, and he groaned, holding his arm straight out and bracing.

There was a distinct attitude of _glee_ in the kid’s body language as he leapt onto it, hanging upside-down. Tony flipped his faceplate down and the obnoxious fake-shutter noise of a camera came from the suit’s speakers, along with amplified Tony-chuckling. Bucky facepalmed with his free hand.

“Tell you what, kid, you get off now and I won’t fling you into the Empire State Building,” Bucky said from beneath his hand. The sudden weight loss from the arm left him swaying. Kid was looking up at him from where he crouched on the ground, somehow looking earnest _even with the mask on_.

The future was not what Bucky had thought it would be. Sometimes it was just weird.

Steve was beaming at him.

“Shut up,” Bucky grumbled, heading back to his bike and swinging a leg over.

“Is it a biological thing?” Tony said behind him. “Or is it the suit? How do you do the webbing stuff? Hang on, why aren’t you in school?”

“The sticking is biological –” kid began, but Bucky tuned him out as Steve protested.

“But what about Rhino?”

“You’re the Man with a Plan,” Bucky said drolly. “In this case, I suggest that the plan be _chuck the guy in a police van._ ”

Sam crossed his arms with a satisfied nod. “Efficient.”

Steve slumped. “This means I’ve got to go talk to the police, doesn’t it.”

Sam did finger guns. Bucky was done with these people. He revved up the bike as Steve began to complain to Sam. Tony and the kid were now animatedly discussing science. Bucky tilted his head and asked his comm, “JARVIS?”

“Yes, Sentry Barnes?”

“Is Clint awake?”

“No, Sentry Barnes, he is still asleep on his sofa.”

“Is Natalia awake?”

“Indeed, Sentry Barnes; she is in Mr. Barton’s kitchen.”

“Can you tell her I’m on my way?” Bucky asked, lifting off the roof and headed back.

“Of course, Sentry Barnes. Would you like U to meet you and bring your gear down to be cleaned?”

“JARVIS, you’re a pal,” Bucky said, and he swore he heard a faint bit of smugness in the AI’s tone.

“I aim to please, Sentry Barnes.”

Five minutes later, Bucky parked the bike carefully in the garage, re-engaging the security protocols and adding a few extra that apparently Clint and Stark hadn’t thought of, asking JARVIS to update Clint on the new ones. JARVIS agreed amiably, sounding intrigued.

An AI that learned, and Bucky was teaching it. Neat.

He met U just inside, giving the excitable robot a finger to tug, because it seemed to love that, and then pulling off the pink armor and shoving it in the duffel U had thoughtfully brought along. He patted the squeaking robot, then watched it zip down the hall before following at a steadier pace, taking the elevator JARVIS had designated as ‘his’ to Clint’s floor and stepping out.

Natalia looked up at him with an invisible smile when he entered the room. <Everything go okay?> she asked in Russian, glancing over him, the quick, automatic check for wounds and weapons, before turning to the coffeemaker at an angle so she could still keep an eye on him.

<Steve’s an idiot, but that’s normal,> Bucky said wryly, leaning against the counter so he could do the same to her. Natalia’s eyes twinkled.

<Clint’s still asleep,> she replied, gaze flicking to his right hand. <What’s on your mind?>

<Ugh,> Bucky grumbled. <You’re not allowed to use my own training against me.> He sighed, knowing that rubbing his thumbnail against the pad of his index finger was one of his tells, and that he’d let himself relax enough around her to do it.

<Ha. You know better than that.> She turned, handing him a mug.

He took it, carefully wrapping both hands around it, liking the warmth up the one set of fingers, at least.

<Clint mentioned his marriage,> he said. Natalia tilted her head in response, expression blank. He knew that meant she was listening, unlike what many might think. <He said he struggled, cause he fell in love too much, and it hurt his ex-wife.>

He paused. Natalia was silent as they both sipped their coffees. He appreciated that; the silence gave him room to think, without her interjecting how he should feel about it.

<He thinks it’s a bad thing, I think. That he can’t just – stick with one person. But it – it would help me. If he had others. I wouldn’t have to be everything – if I mess it up, he’d have others to keep him steady. Safe,> Bucky finally confessed to his coffee, unable to meet anyone’s eyes at the moment. <I don’t want to force him. But I – I’d like it. If he had other people. Is that selfish? He’s uncomfortable with that side of himself, and I just. Want it.>

He risked glancing up, and frowned when he saw Natalia was smiling at him – an actual smile.

<You know what I think?> she asked, and he shook his head. Nobody ever knew what Natalia thought, not even him, that was a fact of life. She continued with a twinkle in her eyes that was far too merry. <I think it’s not fair that you’re this healthy this fast. It took me years before I was okay with sharing anybody, including Clint. I wanted to be everything for everyone I cared about, and I nearly killed myself doing it. And here you are, already admitting that’s a lost cause and you need support.>

Bucky blinked. What?

<What?>

<It’s not selfish,> Natalia assured him. <It’s good. Especially for people like us. We _will_ fuck up sometimes. It’s good to have support. You’re allowed to want Clint to have support.>

<Oh,> said Bucky, bewildered. He hadn’t thought of it like that.

<You should talk to him. Sometime when he isn’t on painkillers. Remind him of what he said and tell him that you want him to have a system of people who can be there for him, because you’re healing,> Natalia said gently. <Trust me, James. It won’t go badly.>

Bucky took a long breath, then let it out. “When did you grow up,” he grumbled, and she hid her smile in her coffee.

A low groan came from the sofa, and both their heads snapped up before a hoarse moan followed.

“I smell coffeeeeee,” Clint said, and Bucky grinned.

“Did you make any decaf for the drugged-up one?” he asked Natalia, who raised an eyebrow and pointed to a pour-over on the corner of the countertop, just finishing dripping from the filter into the mug. Bucky’s eyes crinkled.

“Just don’t tell him it’s decaf,” she said, and Bucky snorted.

“What do you think I have? A death wish?” he asked, picking up the mug and putting the filter holder in the sink before walking out to Clint. He didn’t know why that made Natalia grin so hard.

 

* * *

 

Tinman: _Hey guys, heads up that we’ll be having Dr. Foster + Co moving in ASAP. Just to make sure everybody’s snug as a bug in a rug._

Tinman: _By which I mean safe._

\- **Hammertime has been added to _Assvengers_ group chat** –


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Well-intentioned misuse of drugs. For more detail, see end notes.

_**Potomac + 2 months and 25 days** _

Steve hated meetings with Hill.

He liked Hill! Hill was swell, really. Great. But whenever they had to meet with her, it meant they’d fucked up somehow. As the new head of security and Avengers liaison with the law and PR departments, Hill kept a tight ship.

They had apparently rocked the ship with the whole turning-into-a-dog and subsequent treasure hunt. Steve knew it wasn’t his _fault_ that he’d been turned into a dog, but he couldn’t help feeling responsible for the way Hill looked like she had a constant headache.

The other side of him just didn’t give a shit. He’d been doing crazy shit since the 1930s and somehow people still hadn’t caught on? What did they expect? The very first thing he did with his new body was run into a shop window chasing a murderer with nothing but a t-shirt for protection. It wasn’t like he didn’t come with a massive warning label that said “STEVE ROGERS, TROUBLEMAKER.”

Though they’d gotten rid of all his arrest records when he started the spangle circuit so… maybe they weren’t _entirely_ informed, but still. The Commandos had told enough stories.

When he left the meeting, chastised and told to stay out of the limelight for a bit while things died down, he was feeling a bit crummy. He found himself wandering the tower, absently peering into various labs and offices. He’d done this a lot, in the early days; both as reconnaissance, and just to have something to do when the lawyers told him he couldn’t go outside without getting arrested.

Eventually, just like usual, he meandered down to Tony’s lab. He always seemed to end up here.

Before Bucky had arrived, he’d told himself he liked the lab because it was mechanical, reminding him of his friend fixing things back in the day. Now… he figured he had to admit he just liked it because it was real. The rest of the Tower was glitz and glam; the lab was grease and oil and random metal parts.

Tony was at his realest too, here. Tony in business mode was all Stark, and no Tony. Tony in the lab was better, a Tony that never showed his face to the public.

Steve took a moment to remember Tony looking at Steve’s sketchbook. It had given him such a jolt of nerves, watching Tony go through the sketches of himself. Tony’s reaction – confusion at his own face – still made Steve smile.

He’d gotten a nickname. Colonel Rhodes hadn’t really thought Steve understood the nickname thing, but Steve had watched Tony enough to realize that most of the time Tony gave people ridiculous nicknames to keep them away. When he gave you a kind nickname, he liked you.

Cappy-Cap was Steve’s first kind nickname, and he’d felt like melting into Tony’s chair when he’d first heard it. And Tony hadn’t backed down – he’d invited Steve into the _shower_.

Which was so thoroughly modern and _Tony_ that Steve had just froze up and left.

Embarrassing.

Turning into a dog had been both better and worse on the embarrassment. On one hand, being a dog had been exactly as relaxing as Thor had described. On the other hand, it turned out that dogs had absolutely zero emotional regulation, and Steve had – well. Shoved his nose in Bucky’s crotch and then collapsed on Tony, which was – he refused to think about it.

He’d learned a lot, though. The others had also let their guards down a little when he was a dog; Steve guessed that the physical appearance of _dog_ overrode the knowledge that he was still there, to some extent. Nobody was used to keeping their walls up around dogs.

So now he knew that Tony liked cuddles and would sneak to get them if nobody mentioned it. He knew Bucky would press fingers under dog-Steve’s chin and stroke when anyone around him raised his voice. He knew Bruce was surprised when anyone was pleased to see him.

It was interesting. Lots to think about.

The thoughts made him pause outside the lab, feeling suddenly self-conscious. He was being silly, he told himself. He knew he was welcome. Knew Tony didn’t mind him sketching, and that, if anything, he was more welcome than he’d thought previously. Still – he had a strange feeling in his gut.

He squared his shoulders. He was Captain Goddamn America, and he was _fine_.

Walking in, he was greeted by DUM-E, who buzzed up and gently tugged on his cuff button. Steve smiled automatically. He’d been fond of DUM-E since the first time he’d met the little robot, but watching Tony interact with him had added another layer of emotion, because Tony was damn cute with the bots. They brought out good things in him.

“Hey,” he said quietly, and DUM-E buzzed at him. “Your dad around?”

DUM-E squeaked and led the way through the lab, Steve following. The prototype arm Tony had been working on was sitting on a table, he noted, with a whole bunch of permanent marker on it. Steve tilted his head, wondering what Tony had been thinking when he scrawled “WHY” on a joint piece. 

DUM-E came back and tugged on his belt, and Steve nodded. “Sorry, sorry.” Steve shrugged. “He’s still working on things to help Bucky. It’s a lot.” He sighed and confided in the bot, “I’ll never be able to repay him, you know. Him or Pepper.”

DUM-E tilted his claw, and then reached up and poked Steve in the chest. Steve blinked in confusion.

“What about me?”

Squeaking and shuddering with what Steve assumed was frustration, DUM-E poked him again twice, then grabbed his arm and began to drag him through the lab. Steve frowned, but let himself be led until DUM-E tugged him off balance, tripping him with a well-placed wheel.

Steve gasped and fell over the back of a sofa with a grunt, unable to catch himself due to the sketchbook in his hands, and he did not land on pillows. His face ended up mashed in someone’s belly.

“Wha’ th’fuck,” came a raspy, sleep-slow drawl. Steve made a small choked noise. “’apmphCap?”

“Sorry,” Steve said, trying to scramble up, but struggling to find a way to do it without accidentally elbowing Tony. “DUM-E tripped me—”

Tony huffed underneath him, which was really incredibly distracting. Steve squirmed his head toward Tony’s, then let his hips fall off the back of the sofa. Then he was somewhat crammed between Tony and the sofa back, but at least he wasn’t on top of him anymore. Tony looked at him wryly.

“World’s best soldier, bested by a bot. Say that ten times fast,” he quipped, and Steve knew he was red as he protested.

“I didn’t wanna pull free, I could hurt him,” he said. Tony’s eyes crinkled when he smiled, still bleary but sleep-soft.

“I’m sure he appreciates it, the little bolt brat,” he said, and then raised an eyebrow at something above Steve. DUM-E’s signature _whee-whoo_ was the response, and Steve sighed, shifting to try to give Tony more space. Tony didn’t seem to mind as he lifted a lazy finger to DUM-E.

Steve couldn’t get out of the spot he was in without making it more awkward, so he stayed where he was, ears flaming. “I just wanted a place to sketch.”

Tony stretched next to him, and his shirt pulled up, revealing a treasure-trail down to his low-slung sweatpants. Steve took a slow breath and let it out, wishing he wasn’t so pale and thus obvious when he blushed.

He hadn’t even been interested in men before the serum, he didn’t think; that was Bucky, whose adventurous bisexuality had gotten them arrested more than once when a queer bar was raided with them in it. Steve had been the lookout, but wasn’t really involved. What was the point, when sex would likely kill him? And anyone he got involved with would just mourn him when his heart inevitably gave out.

Sex hadn’t really been his priority. Peggy had hit him like brick to the head. And now – now, everything seemed to be acceptable, if not encouraged, and Steve had no idea how to feel about it. Not for other people – that was all good, but for himself. Peggy had, ironically, been the one to point out how many times he mentioned Tony’s arms or Clint’s shoulders.

Now she’d pointed it out, he couldn’t seem to stop noticing, and he had to mentally add Tony’s abs to the list, it seemed.

Peggy had told him the label that most applied to Steve was “Terrified Bisexual,” with a spark of her new, modern humor that always caught him off guard and left him snickering into his sleeve. He’d laughed through his blush, and she’d grinned at him fondly even when the laugh turned into a choked sob.

It had felt so wrong to laugh when so much had been lost. Now, maybe, he could have kept laughing at it, because… well. Now he had something like family, and Bucky was back, and for the first time since the train he thought maybe he could be okay.

Just maybe, though.

Thank god for Sam, who had coached him through the ensuing panic back at the Tower and then provided resources for Steve to read. Steve had found there was a whole parcel of sexualities these days, but more importantly, Sam’s easy acceptance of his revelation had reassured Steve that he still had a place on the team, no matter which sexuality label he decided on.

Wild to think that now he could come out if he wanted to, even, without getting the shield taken from him. Well, probably someone would try, but that was where the team came in. Support.

Not that he’d told anyone other than Sam, though he suspected Nattie knew, because she knew everything.

Tony melted back down into the sofa, apparently comfortable shoved against Steve’s side. “Figured you’d be with Barnes,” he said, resting his hands on his belly, shirt still rucked up. Steve had to swallow before he could answer.

“He’s asleep, according to JARVIS. Dropped off on Clint’s living room floor while keeping an eye on him,” Steve admitted, then added more reluctantly, “I’m trying not to smother him. We promised, and all.”

Tony tilted his head, listening, but raised his eyebrows when Steve finished. “That was before we knew where Bucky was at mentally, Cappy-Cap. I’m pretty sure he’d tell you if he was getting sick of you, now – he’s clear-headed enough for that.”

“Then why didn’t he come to us before the ad?” Steve demanded, unable to keep the petulance out of his voice. “He only came to us when we promised I wouldn’t mother.”

Tony’s face shuttered off, and Steve’s gut fell as he regretted his words instantly. Rather than squirming, Tony was still with discomfort, which put up more red flags, because Tony wasn’t ever still.

“He wasn’t avoiding you,” Tony said, and Steve opened his mouth to protest but Tony beat him to it. “He was avoiding me.”

“You can’t know that,” Steve said, but it was weak as he looked at the situation from that perspective.

“Now that I know Bucky? Sure I can,” Tony said, confident but quiet. “Look at him, Steve. He shows up, takes less than a week to cope, and what’s the first thing he does? Shows up when Barton’s about to get a scolding. Holds you till you feel sane again. Apologizes to Sam. Comes down here – voluntarily and without me asking – to let me look at the arm. Everything he’s done has been him trying to help us somehow. Like he can make up for hurting us. Like he needs to.”

That was a lot of information, and it took Steve a moment to process it. “Bucky’s always been a caretaker,” he said vaguely, remembering the big brother, the sergeant, the best friend who’d hand-fed him when he was too weak to lift a spoon. Dinner on Bucky’s floor had felt nostalgic but only because it felt so normal, so right, for Bucky to adopt himself a family and immediately start feeding them up.

But on the other hand, Tony had a point – aside from his one day off after the Doombots, Bucky had been caring for the team, not the other way around.

“Yeah, well,” Tony said, “all the more reason he wouldn’t show up if he thought it would upset me.” He raised his chin in a gesture Steve recognized as defiance, though he didn’t know why, it wasn’t like it was Tony’s fault that Bucky didn’t know Tony was kind. If it was anyone’s fault, it was probably Howard’s – oh.

Tony would think it was his fault. Of course he would.

“Huh,” Steve said as casually as he could. “Sounds like me ‘n’ Buck are both idiots, then.”

Tony’s blank response made Steve grin slowly. DUM-E squeaked behind the sofa.

Tony shifted back into movement and life just to flick Steve in the forehead.

“Ow,” Steve said when it didn’t hurt. Tony huffed at him.

“You _are_ both idiots, you’re lucky I put up with your dumb asses,” he complained, and Steve knew his grin was going soft at the edges.

“Yeah,” he said, “we are lucky,” and that shut Tony right up. He snapped his jaw shut and turned suddenly, so Steve was basically spooning him.

“Ugh, gross. I’m sleeping, you’re being my hot water bottle, and we’re never speaking of this again,” Tony demanded.

Steve couldn’t breathe, but nodded anyway. The part of him that was Tony’s friend rejoiced at the relief between them, while the part that was decidedly not-straight had a minor conniption about cuddling and the shirt that was _still rucked up goddamn._

DUM-E brought him a smoothie as Tony began to drift off. Steve tried not to be touched and failed. He choked down the whole thing; DUM-E was watching and he didn’t want to hurt the bot’s feelings – what was he even _doing_. He handed the cup back and yawned.

The room tilted and he muttered, “what” before falling asleep.

He woke to Tony’s voice scolding someone. “I know he’s a super-soldier, that doesn’t mean you can NyQuil the shit out of his face,” he said, sounding surprisingly upset. There was a hand on Steve’s neck, checking his pulse. “Why would you even do that?”

DUM-E made a little ashamed squeak, and Steve blearily wondered when he’d learned what emotions went with which squeak.

“Look,” Tony said tiredly. “I know I’m apparently _blatantly_ obvious, but you can’t just trick someone into a relationship, or a cuddle, or – whatever. It’s gotta be mutual. Consent, and all that, D.”

An even more ashamed squeak.

“Yeah, I know. Humans,” Tony sighed. “But now you know, yeah? Don’t go forgetting it. This isn’t like the fire extinguisher, D, you can’t go blowing it off.”

A tiny beep.

“That’s my bot. Now go get me a bottled water for when he wakes up.”

DUM-E’s wheel-noise trundled off, and Steve blinked slowly. “Don’ be too hard on him,” he said, and Tony jumped.

Steve really was sweet on him, he thought dazedly, tracking Tony with his eyes. Tony’s brows drew together as he leaned closer, concern creasing his face, and Steve raised a hand to trace his cheek with his fingertips. Tony’s eyes went wide.

“Hey, Steve,” he said, and Steve swallowed, because Tony always used nicknames, except for now.

“Hi,” he said, everything feeling lazy and soft. He hadn’t felt like this since before the serum – alcohol didn’t work on him anymore, but somehow DUM-E had stumbled on something that did.

“Sorry,” Tony said, “DUM-E—”

“Doing his best,” Steve said, smiling a little, eyes still fixed on the way Tony’s lips pursed. “Don’t, it’s nice, to just… not be Cap for a minute. I’ll burn it off in a moment.” Steve frowned, not liking that.

Tony seemed taken aback by that, mouth working a little before he finally settled on saying seriously, “You don’t have to be Cap all the time down here. You can just be Steve, if you want, you know. I won’t mind. Not like I can always be Stark, I’d lose it, so I get not needing the pressure—”

Steve watched his lips move. Fascinated, he carefully touched one with a fingertip, and the rant stopped suddenly as Tony froze. Steve smiled a little, glancing back up to his eyes. “You like me as Steve?” he asked lazily.

“Mhm.” Tony hummed, still frozen, like he didn’t want to lose Steve’s finger. Nice. That was nice.

“Kay,” Steve said comfortably, “I’ll be Steve, then, and you’ll be Tony. It’ll be nice.”

“Yeah, C- Steve,” Tony said quietly, and Steve knew his face was too open when he grinned, but he couldn’t help it, the drug still slow in his veins, and being a dog hadn’t helped with any of his emotional control. He relaxed into the sofa, hand falling into Tony’s lap, and Tony took it with a little squeeze. Warm, Steve thought, strong, calloused and sure when the fingers gripped his.

DUM-E whirred up with a water bottle clutched in his claw, and dropped it in Tony’s lap. The claw lifted to move a bit of hair out of Steve’s face, a concerned whirr from DUM-E’s system. Steve let go of Tony’s hand to pat the bot with consideration.

“Sneaky,” he said, and DUM-E froze, but Steve wasn’t done. “You don’t have to do that to make me like your dad. He’s nice already. Don’t drug anybody else, got it?”

DUM-E tilted his claw, and then nudged Steve’s chin, friendly-like. Steve grinned and tilted his head to knock his forehead into the bot, then glanced over at Tony.

He looked almost lost, eyes wide and soft and confused. Steve reached for his hand again, gripping tight. He felt more lucid by the second, and said quietly, “It’s leaving, now. Damn.”

Tony barked out a laugh. “Only you would enjoy getting drugged by a robot.”

Steve grinned back, pleased to see Tony smiling. “I know I’m safe,” he said, while the drug still gave him the freedom to say it. “You wouldn’t let anything happen to me, so I’m fine. Would be scary somewhere else, but you got me.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, quieter. “I got you. Drink your water, Steve.”

DUM-E helped him sit up, and Steve gulped down the water before frowning at the bottle. “Not environmentally conscious, Tony.” His body felt steadier.

“I refill them,” Tony said, shrugging, before JARVIS came over the comms.

“Apologies, sir, but Sentry Barnes is asking for the Captain.”

Steve looked up, feeling the last of the NyQuil leave his system with a burst of adrenaline.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s safe and calm, Captain, and making sandwiches.”

Steve felt a sudden pang of hunger at the thought of sandwiches. “Yeah, okay. Tell him I’m coming up.” He tilted his head to look at Tony. “Can I just leave this here?” he asked, handing over his sketchbook.

Tony was pink when he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “I got it. Go take care of Bucky.”

“Or let him take care of me,” Steve mused, standing and stretching as he headed for the elevator. He could hear Tony huff a laugh behind him, and grinned.

“JARVIS?” Steve mused, as the elevator moved. “Is there any more of that stuff?”

“I’m sorry, Captain?” JARVIS sounded bewildered. A bewildered computer. Steve felt like that had to be a new thing.

“The stuff DUM-E used.”

“Yes, Captain. Would you like it locked from the bots?” JARVIS offered.

“No, I want an order of it. It’s the first thing that’s managed to make me get drunk since before the serum,” Steve said, and he could _feel_ judgement in the pause. He scowled at the ceiling. “Don’t judge me.”

“Apologies, Captain. It was an unexpected response,” JARVIS said, and added, “I will ask Sir about procuring more, but may I suggest perhaps bringing this to Dr. Banner instead, in hopes he can isolate the particular that is causing the wanted effects so you aren’t ingesting unnecessary medication?”

Sometimes Steve was amazed at how much Tony’s computers really seemed to _care_ about him. “Sure. Send him an email for me?” he asked.

“Sent, Captain,” JARVIS replied, and Steve smiled, humming as the elevator stopped on Clint’s floor.

Clint was doing a handstand.

“Heyya Cap look! No feet!” he said, face pink. Bucky was in the kitchen and waved a hand when Steve glanced at him for an explanation.

“He’s been goofing off now that he has full use of all limbs,” was Bucky’s explanation. Steve snorted a laugh before going up to Clint and poking his stomach, grinning when Clint squeaked and crumpled to the floor in a controlled fall, pouting up at Steve from where he landed.

“Rude,” he complained, but when Steve offered a hand up, he took it.

“So? I got a call, I’m assuming it’s not just about sandwiches,” Steve said curiously.

Clint shrugged, nodding toward Bucky. “Ask Buck, I’m just the comic relief.”

“You’re not _just_ anything,” Bucky said, at the same time that Steve frowned and replied, “I wouldn’t say that.”

Clint blinked at them both, shoving both hands in his pockets. “Aw, c’mon,” he grumbled, but Steve saw pink going up his neck as he slunk into the kitchen to collapse into a chair.

His hair was all rucked up, and Steve couldn’t help but think it was probably from Bucky’s fingers. He took a breath and sat down, humming as he looked up at Bucky, who shoved a giant sandwich at him. “Meatball sub,” he said, “leftovers.”

Clint grabbed his own, taking a giant bite happily. “’oo butterin’ u’ upfer somefig?” he asked, mouth full.

“Maybe,” Bucky said, sitting across from them with his own sandwich, but he didn’t begin to eat, instead glaring at it like it had insulted his mother.

“Bucky?” Steve asked, suddenly losing his appetite, and Bucky frowned harder at the sub.

“Sorry. I just. I practiced this in my head but it’s harder out loud,” he said. Clint swallowed his bite with effort, shoulders tight, but tilted his head.

“What if we moved?” he asked, and Bucky glanced up from the food.

“Huh?”

“Well,” Clint shrugged, “We could move to your place. You like that chair by the wall. Have a wall to your back, U next to you, get comfortable before you have to say shit.”

Bucky’s frown cleared as his expression went considering. “Safe environment,” he said, like it was a phrase he’d learned somewhere. “Easier to process emotions.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, pointing, “That.”

“All right. Can we take the sandwiches?”

Steve gave him a look. “Buck,” he said, “If you think I’m leaving the sandwich, you’re stupider than usual.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, the tension broken. Grabbing his sandwich, he shoved back his chair and headed for the stairs. Steve and Clint followed with their own food, Clint eating as he walked and getting sauce all over his chin.

Steve wondered where Clint had learned about safe spaces. Clint was a lot smarter than he let on; Sam had taught Steve about safe spaces, but he hadn’t thought about it, while Clint had just… offered. And now he had sauce dripping onto his t-shirt.

Rummaging in his pocket, Steve offered a handkerchief, and Clint grinned at him, mouth full, before using it to scrub his shirt and signing a quick _thanks_.

Steve needed to learn more than ‘quiet’, ‘please’, ‘ears’, and ‘thanks’. He really did.

“Right,” Bucky said, letting them into his floor and heading for the chair. Clint had also noticed that Bucky _had_ a safe space, which was more than Steve had done. The longer Bucky and Clint were together, the more Steve realized how they fit. It was good, he thought. Healthy for them both. Even if he kinda missed being the one Bucky confided in – it didn’t matter, just so long as Bucky was able to heal and be okay. That was the important bit.

Steve took the sofa, across from the chair, and Clint collapsed next to him, leaning on Steve’s side casually. Steve shifted so he’d be more comfortable, then took a bite of his sandwich.

He hadn’t known it was possible to miss spaghetti sauce, but this stuff. He’d missed this stuff, and hadn’t realized it until he was eating it again at Bucky’s table. He reminded himself that getting emotional about food was weird, and focused on Bucky instead.

Bucky shifted the pillow three times before leaning back, apparently comfortable. Clint raised his eyebrows.

“Okay, shoot,” he said, and took another massive bite of sandwich.

“Don’t choke,” Bucky said, frowning, and Clint rolled his eyes before swallowing after a deliberate chew.

“You’re stalling,” he said, and Bucky shifted, biting his lip before opening his mouth.

“You two aren’t scared of me,” he said, and Steve blinked before glancing at Clint, who glanced at him, both of them caught off guard. What?

“Uh, no,” Steve said slowly. “You’re Bucky.”

“I mean,” Clint agreed, “I’d be pretty hypocritical if I was, honestly.”

“You should be,” Bucky said firmly. “I’m dangerous – if I lose control, I.” He took a shuddering breath. “I nearly killed Steve.” His voice was so quiet. Steve had never heard that tone from Bucky before, and it made his chest spike with pain.

“You didn’t, though,” Steve said, and leaned forward to grip Bucky’s hand. “Right here, Buck, not going anywhere.”

Bucky took a slow breath, staring at their hands and nodding once. “Yeah, okay. Except there’s no guarantee it will work out that way next time, and I’m gonna keep panicking about it until you all start taking it seriously. Thor’s got me, to some extent, but you can’t keep acting like I’m harmless.” He was tense, and Steve let go of his hand, which Bucky immediately tugged over his chest, hugging himself as he stared at his sandwich.

“Thor’s got you?” Clint asked, and Bucky shrugged.

“Promised to take me down if I lost it,” he said, and Steve sat back. Okay. Right. Bucky was already talking with Thor about how to handle it if he – swell. Ugh, he should have much more control over his waterworks than this. He blinked hard. Goddamn dog emotions.

Clint sucked in a sharp inhale next to him.

“Right,” he said, “Well, here’s my take: I can trust you and still have my guard up, Buck.”

Bucky tilted his head, and Clint shrugged. “Nat throws razors at me when she’s having a bad day, it’s not like I let my guard down around her either. Emotional openness doesn’t mean I’m not paying attention to things flying at my face.”

Steve blinked. “Oh. Yeah, no, if you punch me I’m still going to kick your ass. I’m just not going to kill you,” he said, shrugging.

“Nat punched me in the face to get rid of my brainwashing,” Clint agreed with a grin. “Bet she’d do it for you if you asked her nicely.”

“I’ll just start ranting about the Dodgers and you’ll come back to tell me to fuck off,” Steve offered, and fought a grin when he saw Bucky’s lips twitch.

“I’m really good at taking out assassins with blow-dryers,” Clint added with a thoughtful expression.

“Honestly, the fact that you think you could take us out is a little insulting,” Steve agreed, sitting back, “Just cause I didn’t fight last time doesn’t mean I couldn’t have kicked the shit out of you.”

“Hey,” Bucky said, unable to take that, apparently, “I was absolutely about to beat you.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Steve said, snorting. “Not like you’ve sparred with me since you got back.”

“Cause I don’t want to hurt you, you _asshole_ ,” Bucky said, and Steve smirked.

“Oh? I think it’s just cause you don’t want the bruises.”

“You’re a _dick_ ,” Bucky growled, and took a giant bite of his sandwich.

“Or,” Clint pointed out, “he’s trying to get you to spar while you’re in your right mind, so he can take you out if you’re not.”

Bucky glared at Clint, glared at Steve, then glared at his sandwich and swallowed the giant bite with the determination of a Burmese Python. “Fine. You’re both terrible and I don’t know why I like either of you.” He pointed at Steve. “Sparring tomorrow morning at five,” he snarled, and then grabbed his sandwich and Clint’s t-shirt and stomped out of the room, Clint flailing not to fall over as he was dragged behind him.

“That went well,” Nattie said from somewhere in the ceiling, and Steve jumped.

“What the – Natasha!” he gasped, and then groaned, flopping back. “Don’t rub it in.”

“No, really,” she said, and dropped lightly down next to him from wherever she’d been. “That was good. He feels like he can be grumpy around you and you won’t be mad.”

Steve blinked. “Oh.” He scrubbed the back of his head. “I can’t read him as well as I used to.”

“It’s been seventy years,” she said, “Don’t take it too hard. It’ll take a little bit but you’ll get there.”

Steve sighed and stared at the ceiling. “What are you doing for the afternoon?” he asked curiously.

“Helping Thor get the ladies settled. And shoe shopping,” Nattie said, pleased, and Steve flopped over onto her lap. He froze when he was there – he’d never done that before. Goddamn dog emotions.

A hand slipped through his hair, petting, and he relaxed, biting his lip. “Can I come.”

“Only if you hold the bags and try on at least one pair of heels,” Nattie told him, and Steve snickered.

“I look great in heels,” he informed her, rolling onto his back to look at her. She just smirked and rubbed his tummy.

“Fuck you,” he complained, but it was actually really nice.

Goddamn dog emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Details for chapter warning: DUM-E sees Steve stressing out about his attraction and enjoyment of Tony's company. In a well-intentioned toddler-bot effort to help, he doses Steve's smoothie with NyQuil to help him relax. Steve falls asleep. No-one takes advantage of his vulnerability and Tony scolds and teaches DUM-E that medicating someone without consent is not okay. Steve knows Tony wouldn't hurt him and that DUM-E wasn't trying to hurt him, and isn't upset. 
> 
> DUM-E is doing his best. He just figures NyQuil is a handy human code for 'sleep and relax now' and was trying very hard to help. Tony does and will continue to educate him on the nuances of human consent.


	19. Chapter 19

“Steven,” she gasped, and burst into giggles. Steve pouted from where he stood by the door, lipstick making him look ever so fetching, and eyes wild. “What has happened to you?”

“I went shopping,” he said, sounding dazed. “With Nattie and Darcy and – Thor. And Jane, but she was nice.”

Peggy continued to giggle with a little hiccup. “You look darling,” she told him, and he pouted harder as he collapsed in the chair next to her.

“I don’t,” he muttered, but his cheeks were pink.

“You do,” she said, and patted his arm, resting her wrist on it so he could take the weight. “But I’ll stop kidding you. How are they?”

“Thor’s swell,” Steve said. “I got to meet Jane, she’s nice, you’d like her. A little distracted by science.”

“Oh?” Peggy raised her eyebrows.

“A little awkward,” Steve admitted. “She asked me if deep space was as beautiful as it looks from earth when you see it through the Tesseract.”

Peggy blinked, recalling Steve’s report of the Valkyrie’s crash. “She asked you that?”

Steve grinned ruefully. “Completely innocently. Darcy elbowed her and hissed that when a man’s dying, he’s not thinking of admiring the stars. But when she mentioned it, I realized she wasn’t wrong. I mean. They were beautiful. If I _had_ really died, it wasn’t a bad view.”

Sliding her hand down to meet Steve’s, Peggy took it tightly. “What does it say,” she wondered, “about the both of us, that we have a preferred view?”

Steve sighed, looking down at their hands, and then lifted his head with a grin that Peggy knew meant trouble. “Why do you think I’m here so often?” he joked, and she felt her heart leap. “Gotta make sure your last view is my ugly mug.”

The hiccup started in her gut and leapt out of her mouth, and then she was giggling – hysterical giggles, to keep from crying, because – oh, god, it was true, wasn’t it? And they were _talking_ about it, bless. Steve had been avoiding talking about their lost time ever since his first visit, and now Barnes was back and Steve was teasing her about being an old lady.

It hurt so terribly, but it felt so sweet.

Steve was snickering too, next to her, glancing over with little sideways glances under his eyelashes, hand warm in hers. Eventually she had to flop back into the bed, panting softly as she looked over, beaming. “I missed you so much,” she confessed, squeezing his hand. “Thank you for visiting.”

“Oh!” he said, and stood up suddenly, rummaging in his pocket, and she tilted her head quizzically, ignoring the twinge in the back of her neck from the movement. He beamed upon finding what he wanted, and pulled out a little bag – satin with a ribbon drawstring. “I asked Nat,” he said, sitting back down, pleased with himself. “She said you’d probably like this one best, but if it’s not the right stuff you just tell me and I’ll find you the right one.”

“I have to know what it is, dear,” she said, confused but endeared with his enthusiasm.

“Right,” he said, and let go of her hand to fumble it open, shaking more than her for once, it seemed, in eagerness. “I thought – since the air duct heating makes your skin dry, and you used to like to color your—” he gestured at his lips. It was adorable, watching him try to explain, and Peggy waited patiently as he shook the little bag to reveal a tube of lip balm and three small nail polish bottles.

“Nat said you’d like the tinted stuff better ‘cause it’s harder to mess up,” Steve continued, “and I practiced the nail-painting on Clint and Sam and my toes – cause I thought, um. You might feel a little nicer—though you always look nice, Pegs, I just wanted you to feel like yourself –”

He broke off when he realized Peggy was just watching him, amazed. Steve and Gabe were nothing alike, of course, which was why she’d been able to love them both so fiercely – Gabe never tried to be Steve, never tried to take Steve’s place in her life. He just loved her with everything he was as _Gabriel_ , and it turned out that being loved by a Gabriel was exactly what she’d needed.

Gabe was clear and specific, and if he’d suspected Peggy might want a more dignified toilette, he’d have sat down and asked her exactly what she wanted, maybe with a catalog to show her the options – or now, she supposed, a computer. And once he had very clear and specific instructions, he’d have gone out and got exactly what she wanted.

Steve, on the other hand, was a go-getter. He noticed something on gut instinct, and then just arrived with whatever he could muster up from the Commandos – or, in this case, the Avengers – and hoped she’d like it, because he didn’t want to get her hopes up if he told her in advance. It was so very _Steve Rogers_.

“Thank you,” she said, when he glanced at her nervously, and he went pink with a little abashed smile. She pressed her little button, and Jessica peeked her head in the door. “Steve brought me a lipstick,” Peggy greeted her, smiling, and knew from the noise next to her that Steve had shifted again, embarrassed. “Would you mind, dear? My hands aren’t so steady, today.”

Jessica, bless her, never tried to condescend to Peggy. There was no “oh, _isn’t that sweet!_ ” comments that Peggy had gotten from so many other girls. Instead she grinned and came in, darting a glance to Steve.

“You know,” Jessica said, deftly unwrapping the little plastic sleeve on the lip balm and twisting the tube to bring the stick up. “If you keep getting visits from a handsome young man bringing you gifts, the others will get jealous.”

“Then they should find their own handsome young men,” Peggy scoffed, and let Jessica tilt her head up to apply the lip balm carefully, rubbing her lips together in a familiar motion when she finished. A glance at Steve proved that if he were any redder, he’d be a tomato. He beamed at Peggy anyway when she looked at him.

“Here,” he said, “look,” and pulled out his phone, the obnoxious fake-shutter noise snapping at her before he turned it so she could see.

She paused, lifting a hand despite the effort to trace her own face on the screen. She hadn’t thought about it – the lack of lipstick, the splash of red she’d always so loved. It had always felt fiercely feminine, walking into a room with it on, declaring _I will not leave myself behind to enter here_. When she couldn’t apply it, that was that, and she’d not given it much of a second thought, because _bad_ lipstick was worse than _no lipstick at all_.

But this was a soft tint to her lips, a blush that, if smeared slightly, wouldn’t make her look like she’d recently been snogging a man in the closet. And it felt nice, a soft barrier from the dry air. She recognized herself in it.

She glanced up from the phone screen to smile at Steve, who looked like he was swallowing back an audiobook’s worth of speech.

“Oh, you,” she said, and shook her head, taking the hand with the phone and tugging lightly, and he leaned in so she could press a light kiss to his cheek, the faintest of pinks left behind. “Do behave and do my nails, now, darling,” she said, moving past the emotion, and Steve instantly nearly dropped his phone in his eagerness to fumble for the bottles.

 

* * *

 

“Go on,” Peggy laughed, when Steve paused by the door, again, face beaming and warm. She knew he was so reluctant to leave because she might not recognize him the next time he visited, and today had been so good. But his stomach had rumbled at least six times in the past hour. “Home with you, scamp, or the ladies will be thinking I put out for rascals like you.”

“Pegs,” he begged, flushed pink and pleased, and she laughed, feeling her body ache from the pleasant exhaustion of laughter and smiles through the afternoon.

“Go eat, Rogers,” she told him, and he made a face at her before going full USO showboy and blowing her a kiss with a wink as he ducked out. She beamed after him, sinking into the pillow, admiring her nails quietly, before quietly letting her head fall back to gaze at the ceiling tiles, the soft lamp beside her casting glass reflections on the ceiling.

 “I’m so sorry,” she told the empty room. “I should have done more. I should have known. I should have been more active at SHIELD, I could have –”

“What the _hell_ , Carter,” the ceiling said, and she looked up before the ceiling tile moved and a dark man dropped from the ceiling. “I know you ain’t got _stupid_ in your old age, even if your memory is ass.”

“Language, Sergeant,” she replied, automatically. Barnes lifted his face, a wry smile on it.

“So that’s where Stevie got that from,” he said. “Lemme guess, the kids?” He nodded to the photos on her side table.

She sighed. “They got the language from Gabe, you know. I never could stop them.”

“And he got it from me.” Barnes looked almost proud of it. Her heart ached to look at him. Too young and too old. He had the same gaze as the others her age. Their age.

She sniffled. “I should have been able to _help_ you. If I’d just paid attention – Paperclip shouldn’t have –”

“Carter,” he said, sitting on the edge of her bed without asking, taking her hand in two gloved ones. She shut up, sniffling again, biting her lip and ruining her new lipstick, probably. Barnes tilted his head. “How do you do victory curls?”

“What?” she choked out, bewildered.

Barnes let go and pulled his hair up into a messy approximation of what was probably meant to be the curls, but was really just a wreck on his head. “I can’t get it to work,” he said. “And Natalia just kept laughing.”

“Why do you want—” she broke off, too confused to finish.

“Well,” he said dryly. “See. This bombshell of a gal back in the day used to wear ‘em. Took care of our whole unit, _plus_ tellin’ off the blokes that thought a girl wasn’t capable, _plus_ lookin’ like a dish.”

Peggy knew her cheeks were red, and she wasn’t wearing rouge. She swallowed quietly. Barnes’ eyes were too earnest for the teasing tone he used, and the teasing left entirely as he said quietly, reaching for her hand again, “She’s my inspiration. She did her best. She wasn’t perfect and she missed stuff, but only because she was doing _so much other stuff_. Do you know how many times she saved the world? Carter. Do you know how many times you saved the world.” He met her eyes.

She nodded mutely, knowing her cheeks were wet. He reached up, then paused, tugging off his glove and using his right hand to wipe the tears away. “Carter. Pegs,” he said quietly. “You worked _so hard_ , Pegs. You’re allowed to let the rest go. It’s not on you. It never was. Rogers and I are _so proud of you._ ”

Peggy sobbed once and held a hand up to cover her mouth, knowing her lips were trembling. “If I’d known, I would have –”

“You’d have saved me. I know. And you’d have done it, too, you’d have taken on all of Hydra and kicked their asses,” he said with a crooked smile. She hiccupped on a sob that turned into a laugh halfway through.

“I want photos when you manage the curls,” she said shakily, and he grinned, looking for all the world like he and Steve had just planned to card shark _les hommes_ for a D-bar.

“Photos?” he said. “I’m going to sneak the curlers in here, I’ll do me up while we talk logistics.”

“Logistics?” she asked, and Barnes’ eyes twinkled dangerously as he smiled.


	20. Chapter 20

_**Potomac + 2 months and 26 days** _

Ho-lee shit. Like, seriously, this place was huge, like. Really, _really_ huge, and a little overwhelming, but in like, the best way, like the type of way that meant Thor would no longer dwarf the room when he came in.

Darcy looked at her tiny little suitcase in the very big room, and then at the walk-in closet and then at the suitcase. If she sent an email, she knew Kenny and Jo-Anne would send her stuff from the storage back at their place, but….

Hey, Stark had made them move, she’d figure out some way to get a wardrobe out of him, she was owed that much after being dragged from New Mexico. Thor had got Jane her wardrobe yesterday, and Darcy strongly suspected Tony was the sponsor behind that credit card. She shrugged and began to unpack, hanging items in the closet and draping scarves over the hooks.

“Ms. Lewis,” JARVIS said, and she _loved_ him, honestly, robot butler that talked and called her _Ms._ all proper-and-Brit. “Apologies for the interruption, but Mr. Barton is asking to be let in.”

“Does he have coffee?” she asked, and Clint’s voice came over the speakers a second later.

“That is a dumb question, Darcy-girl. Do I have coffee. Do I have a double-whip caramel macchiato. Do I have coffee.”

“Yay,” she beamed. “Let him in, JARVIS. Can I call you J? I feel like you’re a J kinda guy.”

“Mr. Barton and Sir already refer to me as such, so I have no objections,” JARVIS said easily.

“Great minds think alike,” she nodded, frowning at a scarf that kept slipping off the hook, picking it up and tying a loop before putting it back on. “Ha, sucker.” Now it was stuck.

“Who’s a sucker?” Clint asked as he shoved the bedroom door open with a shoulder, hands full of coffee.

“Scarf,” she said, and bounced over for her cup, taking a long sip. “Mmmmmmmmm. Clint.”

“Yeah?” He was grinning at her over his own cup.

“Clint. I’m in _Avengers Tower_. In _New York_.”

“Mhm.”

She stared at him, then flopped on her bed, careful with the coffee, which she cradled in both hands on her stomach. “What is my _life?”_

Clint snickered at her, pulling out the chair by the vanity (because Tony Stark had bought her a _vanity_ , like a legit one with a light-up mirror and a cute little makeup case _built into the desk_ and like, hidden drawers and shit) and sitting down. “I don’t know, I think you’re doing pretty damn well.”

“That’s just it. Where’s the catch? Where’s the other shoe? This doesn’t _happen,_ ” she said, staring at the ceiling, eyes wide.

Clint reached out and nudged her thigh with his toe. “You know what doesn’t happen?” he asked. “People don’t _taze Thor_.”

She nodded seriously. “You’re right. I made my choices. My choices were to taze a lightning god and fall down the rabbit hole.”

He nodded back. “Mhm. Now you have to live with the consequences. Which means living in the lap of luxury in New York with Captain America.”

“Oh my god,” Darcy said, sitting up, eyes wide. “Wait. I’m going to _meet him in person_. Oh my god.” Her head swiveled to Clint. “What do I _wear?!”_

Clint gave her a long look. “Darce.”

“I know!”

“You didn’t care what you wore to a _date_.”

“I know!”

“But now you care what you wear.”

“I _know!”_ Darcy whined, and flopped back again, whining, “But it’s _Captain America!”_

“You hang out with _Thor,”_ Clint pointed out, snickering at her.

“I didn’t go through puberty with a poster of _Thor_ ,” Darcy snapped back, and Clint lost his composure to cackling, which, _rude_ , who _didn’t_ have a Cap period during puberty, hot _damn_.

“He’s going to hate that,” Clint snickered.

“Don’t you tell him,” she said, snapping upright again to glare at him.

“I am a super-spy. I will keep your secret,” he promised, and then ruined it by adding, “until it becomes necessary blackmail material.”

“I know about the stuff in your third drawer down,” she told him, and he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

“So does Nat, you can’t scare me.”

She groaned. “Why am I friends with a spy. Why am I like this.” She pouted and took a sip of coffee to cope.

“Speaking of Cap, I need your help.” Clint leaned forward. She blinked at him. He was like, six types of ripped, and it was distracting, sue her.

“Oh?”

“They’re both geniuses and they’re so dumb and I _need_ someone to understand.”

“Explain?” She frowned.

“Okay. Okay. Tony and Cap. Cap and Tony.”

“Ye-es,” she said. Clint threw his hands in the air, nearly losing his coffee everywhere, then clutched at nothing with a look of disbelief and exasperation. She recognized that face — that was the “Thor thinks pineapples are good on pizza” face.

Oh boy.

“Okay. So I’m gathering they’re being stupid. Any elaboration on _why_ they’re stupid?” she said patiently. Sometimes, despite being a super spy, Clint was bad at relaying pertinent information.

Clint groaned, downed his coffee, tossed it over his shoulder into the trash can _without looking_ , what even, and then flopped face-first on the bed next to her. “Thew in uv.”

She poked his side. “You, of all people, should know enunciation is important.”

He turned his head and gave her a look, then, like an asshole, over-enunciated every word. “They. Are. In. Loooooooovvveeeeee.”

Darcy blinked, then sipped her coffee as she processed, before looking up at the ceiling. “Well. Hope the New York Times doesn’t get ahold of that,” she said, and Clint lightly flicked his hand at her side.

“Take this _seriously_ ,” he complained, and she rolled her eyes.

“I am. If that gets out, it’s a PR nightmare and then they’ll break up from the pressure.” She had a political science major, of course she thought about this.

“They’re not _together._ That’s the _problem_.” Clint rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling.

“You’re _kidding_. Cap’s been living here for over _two months_.” Darcy gaped at him.

“This. You see? That’s what I’ve been saying!” Clint said, sounding justified. Darcy shook her head in exasperation.

“So you need help, what, setting them up?”

“Exactly. Help. Help me, Obi Juan whoever the fuck you are, you’re my only ho.”

Darcy grinned. “Okiedokie. So, knowing men, they’ve been dancing around each other without talking?”

Clint glared at her. “I resent that insinuation even though it is correct.”

She ignored him. “So I just gotta make things explicit,” she mused, and he blinked.

“Please do not make things explicit. We have common rooms.”

“Shut up. I mean I gotta get them talking. I can do that. Jokes that are too much to ignore but can come off like a doting fangirl. Oooh, I love playacting, this is gonna be _fun_.” She paused, and she knew her grin was going sharklike at the next idea. “I’m gonna drag Thor into this.”

“Oh shit,” Clint said, like he’d _just_ realized who exactly he’d put on the job here. “He’s going to be all – earnest about it.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “Which will be the most disarming approach we could take.”

“You’re a genius.” He looked sincerely impressed.

“Thank you,” she said, toasting the air with her coffee.

“Excuse me, Ms. Darcy, but Sentry Barnes is searching for Mr. Barton. Is it all right if I direct him to your room?” JARVIS asked politely.

“Sure, J,” Darcy said easily, hiding her excitement. Clint’s new boytoy was _delicious_. She couldn’t help looking around her new room, hoping it passed muster. There wasn’t much in it, so it looked pretty good, just because it was so free of clutter. She really wanted to make a good first impression; she liked Clint, and from what she’d seen on video calls she liked Steve, and everyone knew about the legend that was Steve-and-Bucky, Bucky-and-Steve.

Oh god, she really wanted him to like her.

Fuck those nerves, Darcy was immensely likable, and if he didn’t like her, screw him.

“Is everything all right?” Clint asked, looking worried.

“Sentry Barnes went to your floor in search for you and ran into Ms. Bishop, who left your dog with him; she seemed to be quite rushed,” JARVIS informed them. “He seems to be anxious to return the canine to you.”

“Doggie,” Darcy told her coffee, pleased.

Both of them glanced up at the knock on the door. “C’min,” Darcy called, stretching over Clint to set her coffee on the side table, because she’d need both hands because _dog._

Bucky clearly tried to just peek his head in the door at first, but Lucky overrode that by squirming between his legs and shoving the door open to get to Clint. Two paws landed on Clint’s stomach as Clint got slobbered on, trying to dodge the puppy-licks all over his face with a grin.

“Aw, pizza-dog breath, no,” he complained, but his expression said he didn’t mean it. Darcy leaned over to scrub her hands over Lucky’s back, and the dog turned to her enthusiastically, wriggling all over them both. Bucky stood in the doorway, looking amused and tentative.

Oh god, look at him. No wonder Clint had fallen for him: gentle _and_ badass was a devastating combination. She’d protect him with her life. Or just recruit Thor. Thor was probably better at the protecting bit, cause he had Mew-Mew. With that expression on his face? Darcy wanted to _squish_ him. With consent. Consent was important for assassin squishing.

“Hi,” she said, standing up when Lucky decided he was most comfortable sitting on Clint’s shoes and wagging, chin on Clint’s knee. “You brought me a dog, are you sure you won’t marry me?”

“Technically, it’s Clint’s dog,” he pointed out wryly, eyes sparkling with good humor. “So by that logic—”

“I take it back,” she said quickly, “You can have him.”

“Damn right he can have me,” Clint muttered, smirking, and Darcy made a face.

“No old man sex jokes on my floor,” she decided. “Rule one. JARVIS? You got that?”

“Understood, Ms. Lewis,” JARVIS responded, and Bucky – honest to god – snickered. She grinned at him.

“I’d shake your hand but frankly I’m a hugger, are you a hugger?” she asked, because the squishing urge hadn’t left. He paused, and then nodded with a gentle tilt of his head, looking almost surprised to be asked. She beamed, telegraphing her movement as she stepped over to hug him, a nice full-body squish. “Hi, I’m glad you’re here, it’s nice to meet you.”

It took him a moment to hug back, but then it was a wonderful strong hug, with none of that half-hearted barely-draped-arms bullshit. “Nice to meet you too,” he said, voice amused, and she _knew_ he was giving Clint a look over her shoulder even though he couldn’t see it. “Clint talks about you.”

“All good things,” she said confidently, and Bucky laughed against her, chest shaking against hers.

“All good things,” he confirmed as she stepped back, and then they were grinning at each other like two idiots, but honestly, who cared? Clint had no room to judge.

“Come in, take a seat, get comfy, mi casa es su casa or whatever,” she said, jerking her head at the room. “This place is huge, it’s not like I’m going to run out of room. What do you think I should get Stark as a thank-you, a pony? Does he like ponies?”

Bucky snorted and stepped further in, letting her shut the door as he headed for the desk chair.

“I don’t know if Miss. Pepper would be thrilled about a pony,” he said, turning smoothly to straddle the chair and sling his arms over the back, and _damn,_ those thighs, “but if you let him help you pick out the furniture, he’ll enjoy himself.”

She hummed. She’d suspected Stark was the sort who needed to give people things to reassure himself, but it was nice to have it confirmed; it made living on his generosity less awkward. “Point taken.”

“Darcy’s going to help me with the Steve and Tony problem,” Clint told Bucky, sitting up as he stroked Lucky’s hair.

“Yeah?” Bucky’s eyes twinkled. “You got her on the ‘get Stevie laid’ train, huh?”

“I’m kinda surprised you’re not the train conductor,” Darcy admitted, sitting on the floor next to Lucky so she could get her fill of petting the dog.

“Me an’ Steve never got there,” Bucky said, but he had a complex expression on his face, watching Clint, and Darcy glanced up to see Clint doing a funny sort of squirm.

“Uh,” Clint said, and Darcy narrowed her eyes.

“What did you do?” she asked, and Clint held up a finger.

“To be fair,” he stated, “I was really high at the time so nobody’s allowed to judge me.”

“Mhm, what did you do.” She didn’t look away. Clint looked between her and Bucky, before slumping.

“Please tell me I didn’t babble as much as I’m remembering I babbled.”

“I thought you were sweet,” Bucky said, and _aww_ , these two were adorable. “Might have talked to Natalia about it.”

“Shit,” Clint said, scrubbing his face with one hand, and she looked between them, a little worried now, as Clint continued, “I’d never cheat, Buck, I swear—”

“Hey, no,” Bucky said, half-rising from his chair with a concerned expression, but Darcy held out a hand to him and he stilled, tilting his head at her. She mouthed _I got this_ at him before reaching up to place a hand on Clint’s knee.

“We all know that, Clint,” she said. “Why don’t you start with what you _think_ you said and Bucky can tell you if you’re even right, for starters, cause you might be freaking out over nothing, anyway.”

Clint’s hand stilled, half covering his face. “I don’t wanna.”

“Okay,” she said, and turned to Bucky. “What’d he tell _you_ , then?”

“Um,” Bucky said, hesitating, eyes on Clint. Clint sighed, slumping further. “I don’t know if he—”

Clint waved his other hand at nothing, dismissive. “She’s already watched me puke in New Mexico, go ahead,” he muttered.

“Right. Um, it was about his marriage – he falls in love easy, he said, and it made his ex-wife upset. And he said he wanted Stevie to, uh, get kisses, from me an’ Tony—” Bucky broke off when Darcy began to smile.

“Hey,” she said, leaning to bump her shoulder against Clint’s thigh. “Good job, high Clint, proud of you.”

“What?” He lifted his head to stare at her, and she grinned.

“Honest communication about being poly, good for relationship building, great job,” she told him. A glance at Bucky said he agreed with her, if the smile playing around the corners of his lips was any indication.

“Um,” Clint said, glancing between them, and then his shoulders seemed to settle instead of slouch, face tentatively hopeful. “Okay.”

“So what did you think?” Darcy asked Bucky. “You obviously thought about it if you talked to Tasha about it. Natasha _is_ Natalia, right?”

“Right,” Bucky said, nodding once before pausing, considering his words. “Yeah, we talked about it, ‘cause it made me feel better.”

“The talking to Tasha made you feel better, or the stuff Clint said?” she clarified, and Bucky smiled at her, which made her stomach do a little flip.

“The stuff Clint said,” he replied. “Cause I worry, you know – I’m still coping with – everything. So if he had – has – other people, it means he’ll have, um, support, when I fuck up. I just want him to be happy, I guess, and I know that it’s not always gonna be me who can do that, so it’s better, if he’s got other people he loves.”

Darcy glanced up to see Clint staring at Bucky, gawping a little with his mouth open. She gently poked his thigh and he jumped a little, looking gobsmacked. Bucky’s low chuckle made her grin.

“It’s nice,” he told Clint frankly, “that your heart’s got room to spare.” Clint made a strangled sound and shuddered, before scrubbing at his face.

“You can’t just _say_ things like that,” he said.

“Deal with it, pal,” Bucky responded, and Darcy squeaked out a giggle. Clint let his hands drop and gave her a look, but it was too tinged with relief to actually be scolding, his face lighting up from the inside with something like joy. It made her slump against the bed, tension leaving her body like a warm bath, like relief but bubblier.

God, she was so proud of him. But they hadn’t addressed the other bit.

“What about you and Steve, then?” she asked Bucky, and Bucky hummed, crossing his arms over the top of the chair back. The metal hand looked good, chrome against the black of his jacket.

“He offered to set us up,” Bucky explained, “on a date. Said he’d be good with sharin’.”

“I mean. _Yes,_ ” Darcy said, nodding once before looking up at Clint, who shrugged.

“Steve’s lonely. And talks about him like he’s…” he paused, tilting his head.

“The one that got away?” Darcy offered, and Clint pointed at her.

“That.”

“And you? You got interest in Steve?” she asked Bucky, who chuckled ruefully.

“Since I was a kid, sure. But we never got there.”

“Right,” she said, nodding, clapping her hands together in front of her face. “The get-Steve-laid train. We’re on it. We’re making this happen.” She paused and then looked at Bucky over her hands. “If you don’t send me schmoopy photos, I will come after you, and I have the power of Thor and anime on my side.”

Bucky stared at her. “Thor and what.”

“Oh my god he doesn’t know Vine,” she said. “Congratulations you’re joining the Pop Culture Club. I’ll text you. It’s like movie night, but with Thor and dumb memes. Clint and I are co-presidents, it’s amazing.”

Bucky blinked, then smiled and slouched to set his chin on his crossed arms. “You’re a force of nature, aren’t you, darlin’?”

She grinned at him. “Don’t you forget it.”

A shout from the hallway called all of their attention. “SISTER DARCY.”

“IN HERE,” Darcy shouted back. Thor had access to the floor, because giving him permission every time he visited Jane would be a pain in everybody’s ass.

He knocked and then peeked his head in. “Sister Darcy,” he said, and then glanced around. “Friends Bucky, Clint.”

“You need something, big guy?” she asked, as Clint waved and Bucky nodded in greeting.

“Stark has gifted me with a mobile speech device,” he said, holding out a Starkphone as he came in, closing the door behind him. “He spoke of a written component and my Jane told me you were most proficient with these things.”

Darcy made grabby hands up at him. “Gimme,” she demanded, and he handed it over with a chuckle, sitting on the floor next to her. “What don’t you understand?”

“I’ve made an account with the help of JARVIS, but it doesn’t write as I speak,” he said with a frown.

She opened the messaging app and hit the speech-to-text button, holding it to his lips, and he smiled obligingly as he said into the phone, “Hello, sister Darcy.”

Glancing at the screen, she frowned. “I mean, it’s translating fine,” she said, holding it up, where the entry bubble said “hello sister Darcy” in text.

“But that’s not how I speak,” Thor said, frowning.

Bucky tilted his head. “Can I see?” he asked, and Darcy handed the phone over. He frowned at it. “Is it the lettering?” he ventured. “The, uh, font style?”

Thor’s expression went contemplative. “Yes. The words aren’t—” he gestured, spreading his arms, and Bucky nodded.

“Big lettering, you’ve got a full-bodied voice,” he said, and glanced up. “JARVIS, can you set his phone so it always types in capitals when he texts or talks?”

“Easily, Sentry Barnes, consider it done,” JARVIS replied. Darcy scanned Bucky’s face.

“Are you into tech?” she asked curiously, and Bucky shook his head.

“Naw, I just went to art school,” he said with a quirk of his lips, tossing the phone back to Thor. “Try that?”

“Hello, friend Bucky,” Thor said to the phone, and glanced at the screen. “Yes, that’s what I wanted. Thank you, Bucky, JARVIS.” He nodded at Bucky and the ceiling in turn, which was the _cutest_.

“You’re most welcome, Thor,” JARVIS said formally, and Thor frowned.

“Is there anything I can do in return?” he asked, and Darcy covered her smile. This had been a constant since Thor had met JARVIS, no matter how many times JARVIS assured him that he was an AI and didn’t require a gift _exchange_ for favors.

“JARVIS likes flowers,” Bucky said. Both Darcy and Thor turned to him in surprise. He shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed at the attention. “He does. Clint got him some.”

Thor beamed. “I can find you some plants,” he offered the ceiling, and there was a pause that somehow Darcy knew was surprise, despite JARVIS having no facial expressions to read.

“Thank you, Thor,” he finally responded, “I shall apparently have a collection of growing things.”

Thor looked satisfied with that response, and Darcy winked at Bucky, who smirked back. Clint’s leg twitched next to her and she snickered, somehow _certain_ that it was a response to that smirk.  

“ _I am crashing your party and I am insulted I wasn’t invited,_ ” Tony’s voice suddenly said over the speakers. Darcy rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, J, let ‘em in, why not,” she agreed, and soon heard not just one but several sets of footsteps head down the hall.

“What is this, the Party Palace?” Tony demanded as he came in, followed by – everyone, really. Darcy held back a squeak when _actual Captain America_ entered the room, but there was also Tasha, and oh, Bruce, wow.

Oof. Nobody’d told her how _hot_ Wilson was in person.

Jane slipped in the back and squeezed past the Avengers to go sit on Thor’s other side; he grinned and slung an arm around her, tugging her close with a press of lips to her hair. They were so goddamn cute it hurt.

Darcy grinned, head tilting to rest on Thor’s shoulder comfortably.

“I’m popular,” she told him, “Get on my level, Stark.”

“I’m hurt. I’m hurt and insulted, I’m—”

“Here for a reason?” Darcy interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, yeah, we’re here for the big guy,” Tony said, and Darcy gave him a Look.

“Which one.”

Tony pointed at Thor. “We never got his rundown.”

Thor blinked and then Darcy felt him straighten, going tense. “Ah. Yes.”

Darcy looked up at him, then reached to take his hand and squeeze once, gently. Thor glanced over, smiling a little wryly. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Steve – actual Captain America – glanced over them both and then wandered over to Bucky, sitting on the floor by his knee. “Does now work?” he asked, and Thor nodded, but stayed tense.

“I fear it’s not all good news. Some is. Quite terrible, I fear,” Thor said quietly, glancing over at Clint once. Clint tilted his head, then gave a long sigh.

“Okay,” he said, “Right. Is your.” He stopped, took a deep breath, glanced at Tasha, and kept his eyes on her as he continued. “Is your brother free somehow?”

Thor immediately raised his head to look at him. “No. He’s. Dead.”

Clint blinked. “What.”

“He died,” Thor said quietly. “Attempting to save my life.”

Darcy watched Clint shut down in front of her. She grimaced. Relief mixed with anger mixed with guilt, if she were to guess, and it sucked. Her other hand slipped up to steal his. He gripped it tight between both of his, archery calluses rough between her fingers.

“And,” Tony said, and bless him, because now he got all the attention, that tendency of his was good for once, “what exactly was threatening your life?”

“My father imprisoned the Dark Elves long ago, in order to stop them from turning the Nine Realms to darkness,” Thor said tiredly. “But Sif found a creature – an item – a _thing_ , called the Aether, which woke them and drew them to Asgard. If they had gotten hold of it, they would have been able to destroy the Nine Realms to their own liking.”

“And you stopped them,” Steve said quietly.

“Yes. Not without sacrifice,” Thor agreed, face grave.

“Loki?” Tony asked. Clint’s hand flinched.

“Yes. My mother nearly died as well; she is with the healers, now,” Thor said softly, closing his eyes. “I do not know how she fares.”

Darcy felt Jane shift closer to Thor. She hoped it helped, because she’d literally never heard him sound this sad, and it was the actual worst.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Clint said hoarsely, and Thor looked up, eyes wide. Darcy did too, because she _knew_ how hard that must have been for Clint to say. He swallowed, not looking at any of them, instead focusing on Lucky as he shrugged. “I have a shitty brother,” he said, “I get it – it’s not that simple. I’m sorry you lost him. I hope your mother heals up quick.”

Thor stared before nodding once, slowly. “Thank you,” he said quietly. Clint’s response was a soundless jerk of his head, and the room went quiet before Banner broke the silence.

“So what made you come to Earth?”

Thor looked down, and then back up. “My father has been acting oddly,” he said. “More closed off, easier to anger, less inclined to justice and more inclined to impatience. I spoke with Heimdall, and both of us agreed it would be best if the vast reach of the Power Stones were out of his grasp.”

Clint stiffened up next to her, and said hoarsely, “You brought it back, didn’t you.”

Thor nodded slowly. “My family has harmed you before. I did not wish history to repeat.”

Clint took a very slow breath, then stood up, walked over to Bucky, and gave him the ‘spin around’ finger. Bucky got up, turning the chair around with an unreadable expression and sitting back down before Clint sat on his lap with a little huff. He tugged both of Bucky’s arms around him before nodding to Thor. “Go on.”

Thor inclined his head to him before moving on. “Heimdall could see that Selvig, our friend, was working to open the door the Tesseract can create. So I packed the valuables I could and waited with it, hoping that when it opened, I would be able to limit the damage to both our realms.”

“And so you arrived,” Tony said slowly, and Thor nodded.

“And so I arrived, bearing gifts, the Tesseract, the Aether, and myself. I am more refugee than visitor, I fear.”

“A welcome one,” Steve said quietly, and Darcy felt her shoulders drop with something like relief. She’d been getting more and more tense the longer Thor spoke. She hated feeling like she might have to choose between friends, and this – this was serious.

“But that doesn’t explain—” Tony frowned, glancing at Clint, who grit his teeth and nodded once. Darcy wished he was still sitting close, because she didn’t understand the look on his face. For that matter, Tasha looked grim. They _all_ looked grim. “You mentioned Agent, in the video-call.”

“He visited,” Jane said, “Just after Thor left to you.”

“He’s _dead,_ ” Tasha said, and Darcy frowned, before realizing –

“Did SHIELD tell you that?” she asked, and the room went very, very silent before Clint took a hitching breath that she immediately recognized from her own oh-god-there’s-an-exam-tomorrow panic attacks.

“I think we’ll get back to this tomorrow,” Steve said hoarsely, and Bucky picked Clint up like he wasn’t 200-something pounds of beefsteak, carrying him out of the room silently. Tasha followed, giving Darcy a glance, and Darcy signed a quick _take care_. She nodded, and Lucky padded out with her, followed by the rest of the Avengers. Stark gave them a long look before he left, and Darcy prepared herself for an interrogation later.

Thor looked upset, and Darcy curled closer to him. “It’s not your fault,” she said quietly. “Earth’s had a lot to deal with, and I think – I think Hydra was keeping us all separated. I think we have a lot to catch up on.”

His arm came round her and tugged her in. Jane had a similar protective hug on the other side, and they made worried eye contact.

“Friend Clinton is – important,” Thor said, large and quiet. “I worry for his soul when he is under such distress. My brother—”

“You’re not responsible for Loki’s faults,” Jane said firmly. “And you’re doing your best to fix what he broke, even though you don’t have to.”

Thor sighed. “All the same – perhaps I will get up early on the morn, and find him the bean drink he enjoys.”

Darcy patted his pec with a nod. “I’ll help you, buddy.”

“Thank you, sister Darcy,” he agreed softly, and bent his head, closing his eyes as he gave himself a moment. Darcy laid her head down and followed his lead. Sometimes you just needed a hug.

 

* * *

 

TazteTheRainbow: _Hey, you feeling better?_

Robin Hood: _He cuddled me to sleep. Help._

__

TaztetheRainbow: _That’s so fucking sweet I’m dying. Thor and I are bringing you coffee._

Robin Hood: _I love you both._

TaztetheRainbow: _Oh, I know._

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little different; I've tested it on my end but if you can't see things, please try the links at the bottom. The basics of each should be in the photo description for those with vision disabilities.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Link 1](https://f002.backblazeb2.com/b2api/v1/b2_download_file_by_id?fileId=4_zbfcaca405593e112627f0c17_f11296a785c756f78_d20200224_m203542_c002_v0001124_t0031)  
>  [Link 2](https://f002.backblazeb2.com/b2api/v1/b2_download_file_by_id?fileId=4_zbfcaca405593e112627f0c17_f11576eba982f281d_d20200224_m203552_c002_v0001129_t0057)  
>  [Link 3](https://f002.backblazeb2.com/b2api/v1/b2_download_file_by_id?fileId=4_zbfcaca405593e112627f0c17_f1064fb59404b3468_d20200224_m203554_c002_v0001124_t0053)


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, considering Pandemic! At The Disco is in town, I hope you're all practising social distancing and staying safe at home, and what better way to do that than to read fic? So here's a chapter.
> 
> I work in a forensic/medical lab, so I'm still going to work, which means that I have to travel. This also means that anything in my car or that I picked up at work gets spread to the places I _have_ to go, like gas stations and grocery stores. I shower a lot, before and after going out, but I can't stop breathing. All of which is to say that the more you stay home (and read fic!) the safer you are while essential workers like medical personnel and grocery employees keep the world running. Please be safe and wash your hands, and shower when you get home!
> 
> Oddly, writing is now difficult cause I kept automatically noticing when characters got within six feet of each other. 
> 
> Final note: if you want this chapter to appear as it should, please download [this free font](https://fonts.google.com/specimen/Metamorphous) to your computer before reading. If funky fonts disturb you, then hit the "Hide Creator's Style" button and all will go back to normal.
> 
> Thor refused to let me write in anything but first person, so I blame him for the tense change, direct all enquiries to  
> Odinson  
> RE: Tense Change  
> Avengers Tower, New York  
> EXPRESS BIFROST DELIVERY

_**Potomac + ??? (Clint lost track, ask JARVIS)** _

“Do you mind?” asked my sister, eyes wide. I knew it was manipulation, but she was so very good at it.

“I would be honored to accompany you to your meeting,” I conceded, “But on a condition.”

“Yeee-ees?” Darcy asked, doing her best to look innocent. It is too bad Loki taught me the danger of that face long ago.

“We have not had a club evening since my return.”

“A – oh! Yes! And Bucky’s a new member,” she said happily, bouncing on her toes. I smiled. The short videos and occasional “web” search were both funny and informative, since Darcy and brother Clinton never seemed to mind explaining the joke to me, no matter how many times I had to ask.

“We will need extra food, then,” I mused, as Darcy took my hand and led me to the elevator.

Sentry Barnes was an excellent addition to our band of warriors, well-deserving of the good Captain’s regard. His past saddened the soul, but his honor was strong and fierce. It had surprised me upon my arrival, the focused protective intent – eyes on my back where Clint perched.

He also carried the burden of every warrior – the ability to harm one’s enemies brings with it the ability to harm one’s friends. He had confided this to me, and I pledged my own honor should he need it in a time of weakness.

I wondered how he laughed. Would he toss his head back, chest shaking? Or was he silent while his shoulders trembled with mirth?

The truth must be uncovered.

I turned to Darcy. “[The woman banging on a trashcan to bard Jackson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=be747tdTXkk). [And the screaming Trouble goat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kh6c0SOfkH4).”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh yes,” she breathed, “genius.”

I tilted my head in acknowledgement of the praise, shifting Mjolnir in my hand.

“By the way,” Darcy added, “I need you to help me with your Asgardian god magic, cause Steve and Tony are in love and we gotta get them bangin’.” She grinned cheekily at me, and I raised an eyebrow in response.

“You wish the Captain and friend Tony to—” I began, but she interrupted to finish for me.

“—bang like a screen door in a hurricane. Make like a lollipop and suck it. Neck like giraffes. Thrust like NASA. Tongue like—”

“I understand your meaning,” I said quickly, before I could find out what manner of Midgardian fauna had a disturbing tongue. “What do you intend me to do?”

“Act like it’s obvious, because it is, and mention it casually so the ice is broken.”

“As you did for my lady Jane and I?” I asked, smirking. She gave a little skip and a nod.

Adorable.

The elevator stopped at Tony’s lab. We entered, Darcy’s hand gripping mine a little tighter when she saw the Iron Man suit standing in a case against the wall. Or – one of the suits, since I saw a few others when I glanced around.

“Hey kid, grab a seat, grab a drink, grab – a Thor –” Tony said, adding a last bit in startlement when he saw me.

Darcy grinned. “Got a Thor, where’s the drinks?”

“Juices behind the bar, soda fountain under the bar,” Tony said, pointing to the corner where a bar was indeed standing.

Darcy scampered over. “Thor? Preferences?”

“One ‘fuck you’, please,” I said, taking a seat. She laughed merrily, shoving a cup under every soda spout before putting a lid on.

“What the fuck,” Tony said, hands going from fiddling to still as he stared in what I chose to believe was awe.

“JARVIS? Fill him in?” Darcy said, mixing her own juice-and-soda drink.

“Certainly,” JARVIS said, and played [the Vine in question](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QxB14oMSYXg). Tony stared, then frowned as Darcy handed me the drink, going back for her own.

“But what does it taste like?”

“Bubbles and high fructose corn syrup,” I replied, taking a long sip. He shrugged in a way similar to Clint whenever he said _you got me there._

“Clint utterly ruined your sense of taste,” lady Natasha said, and everyone jumped. Tony made the same squeak as a blossom-mouse when you disturb their flowers. “I’m making you a raspberry Italian soda.”

“Me too?” Tony asked, recovering himself. Natasha nodded, vaulting the bar as Darcy left it.

“You two are the Spanish Inquisition, then?” Darcy asked, flopping on the weathered sofa next to me. I hummed and set down Mjolnir at my feet so I could put an arm round her. She tucked her feet up next to her, leaning into my side.

“No,” Tony said like a riposte, pointing a finger, “Because if we were, you’d never have expected us.”

Darcy nodded as if this were a good point. Natasha dragged a stool over, handed Tony and I second glasses, and then sat on the stool cross-legged. Somehow.

Loki dared me to a balancing contest once as a child. I lost, then discovered he had been using his magic to steady himself. I wondered how that would work against the lady. A close match, not that it could happen.

“What about the Captain?” I asked, remembering my sister’s request. “I expected him to be with you, friend Tony.”

Tony blushed, just his neck, and I squeezed Darcy’s shoulders in amusement. “He’s busy filling in Wilson and Bucky on Agent,” he said. “Since they weren’t around for all of that.”

Darcy shifted uncomfortably next to me. “I don’t understand why he would let SHIELD lie about it,” she said awkwardly. “It’s not like they could tell him _you_ all died, so – what would convince him to keep it a secret? I mean. He stole my iPod, but he didn’t seem like that kind of jerk.”

“He wasn’t,” Natasha said, focus landing on us both like a spotlight on an actor. “Which is why you need to tell us everything.”

The next few hours were repetitive and dull – a rundown guided by Natasha of the visit from Agent Coulson. What he was wearing (a grey suit, silk shirt, probably a bulletproof vest and hidden weapons, Darcy couldn’t tell), what he ate (nothing), what he said (standard Midgardian greetings, asking after my health, and questions about Selvig’s portal and safety), how he stood (straight), how he looked (healthy)… and then a repeat, to see if her answers changed or there was any new information when she refocused.

I had to sit through a lot of diplomacy classes as a child. It was not enjoyable, and I often would spend them daydreaming about sparring with Fandral instead. But I retained enough of them to recognize the use of Natasha’s approach. Reasonable but boring.

By the end of it Darcy was half on my lap, tucked up close as she buzzed with tension, distressed by the implications.

“So – so. Either Coulson’s Hydra and didn’t tell you he was alive because he’s working for them, or he’s not Hydra but maybe been brainwashed like Clint, or he’s in fear for his life and so hasn’t told anybody he’s alive,” Darcy said a little shakily.

Natasha raised her eyebrows. “You catch on quick.”

“Political science student,” Darcy said quietly, rubbing her hair against my shoulder like she could scrub the anxiety off. “’m supposed to be able to follow the implications.”

“You must be a good student,” Natasha said, and Darcy managed a wavery smile.

“I try,” she said. “Is Clint okay?”

“He’s in the range shooting pictures of the Tessaract,” Tony said with a slight shrug. “But he looks better than last night.”

“Best thing we can do is give him some closure,” Natasha said, and Darcy nodded.

Tony slurped the last of his third Italian drink, set down the cup, and clapped his hands. “Right. J? Let’s start some research, yeah? You heard the talk, so we’ll start with what we got and work with it.”

“Yes, sir.” JARVIS’s screens turned on, and Darcy relaxed a little against me, apparently content most of her work was done.

 

* * *

 

“So we’re going with ‘maybe not actually Coulson, gotta confirm it’s not a disguise?” Stark said in disgust. “I hate spy shit, we can’t even be sure we’re tracking the right guy.”

“There’s only three artists I can think of that would be able to transform a spy that completely, though,” Natasha said. “Since we’ve established it’s not the photostatic veil tech.”

“Four,” said a voice, and we all turned to see Clint in the doorway. I winced internally at his appearance. He looked like he’d had a tossing-and-turning sort of sleep, puffy-eyed. His shoulders slumped with a sort of exhaustion that isn’t physical but mental, and his honor felt like a load to bear. “There’s four. Harrison, Montoya, Honda, and Новиковa.”

“I don’t know Honda,” Natasha said, blinking at him, and Clint shrugged.

“Never came up. Honda and Montoya are gonna be in town next week, though, I can bet on it.”

“We can’t just approach them in public,” Natasha said, frowning.

“Nah, but their cover is pretty public this time.”

“How do you know their cover?” Natasha asked, narrowing her eyes, and Clint cracked a wry, tired smile at her, walking up to a lab table and tapping at it – hitting one of Tony’s touch screens, I guessed.

I was proven right when JARVIS pulled up a new screen. _NEW YORK COMICCON,_ it proclaimed, and Clint maneuvered the page to one that had the headline _Cosplay Contest_.

Natasha was smirking now. “Right. So we just need to send somebody in costume.”

“Oh, oh oh, pick me!” Tony said, waving a hand wildly, but Darcy snorted.

“Like you’d be able to stop yourself from getting the press called on you.”

“Correct. Darcy, Clint, and one hard hitter,” Natasha said.

“Cap,” Darcy decided. “He can be the oblivious friend we dragged along. I can be the Anime Girl.”

“And Legolas is Legolas?” Tony asked, and Clint snorted.

“I am _Merida_ , thank you.”

“Not Katniss?” Tony goaded, and Clint folded his arms, biceps rippling as he tensed.

“ _Merida,”_ he said firmly.

Natasha nodded. “He doesn’t want to get married, he wants to stay single and let the wind flow through his hair as he rides through the glen firing arrows into the sunset.” She managed the whole quote without breaking her straight face, but I could not help the chortle I muffled in Darcy’s hair.

Clint just nodded and lifted a finger without uncrossing his arms, pointing at Natasha as if to acknowledge her point.

“How do you want Cap?” Natasha mused, “He really should go armed, we should try to sneak him in with the shield—”

“ _Listen_ ,” Tony said, “If I don’t get to go, I at least get to call in an expert so I can dress up Cap.”

Natasha, Clint, and Darcy all looked at each other, and Darcy bargained, “Fine, but we get veto power.”

“Fine,” Tony said, like an eager cat pouncing, and Darcy giggled.

The world was right again.


End file.
